


Chloe's Hunt

by ellanorasedai



Series: The Hunt/Heart 'verse [1]
Category: Smallville, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-03
Updated: 2011-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-22 03:51:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 44,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellanorasedai/pseuds/ellanorasedai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chloe runs into (literally) the Winchesters on one of her first forays as a Justice League member.  Of course, her natural curiosity and tendency to snoop lead her right into the Winchesters' world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chloe’s Hunt begins some weeks after Season 2 What is and What Should Never Be, where Dean is attacked by the djinn, and just prior to All Hell Breaks Loose Part 1. It also falls a few months after Chloe is fired from the Daily Planet in Season 7, with Clark and Lana still living together on the farm, but is AU for Smallville going forward.

Chloe walked quickly down the sidewalk, her sensible pumps tapping against the concrete as she glanced behind her into the evening dusk. She could still see the door she had just exited from not far behind her, and while there didn’t appear to be anyone in sight, she didn’t want to linger in case the owner of that office building showed up from his client dinner. Chloe had hacked his Outlook calendar weeks ago, and knew from careful observation over the last few days how long Mr. Arthur Branch usually spent over a business dinner, and also knew that he always returned to his office immediately after to file the paperwork from whatever deals he made over wine and filet mignon. She checked her watch, sighing, knowing she still had a few blocks to walk before being safely in her car and on her way to her hotel. She knew that after his dinner companion dropped him off at his door, and after he filed his paperwork, he would walk this same way to the shared parking garage for the area, and she wanted to be gone before that. She hadn’t meant to cut it so close, but her shiny lock picking kit was still new in her hands, and it had taken a little longer than she had planned to make her way into the office, find the documents that were now stuffed inside her business suit jacket, and then get out without being noticed. If she could manage to get to her car before Branch showed up, her little secret spy mission would be a success. Oliver Queen would be so proud.

Oliver had recommended she ask “Boy Scout” to go with her for safety. He and the other JLA members were currently tied up (hopefully not literally, she thought to herself) in South America, shutting down Lex Luthor’s projects one after one. However, Lex wasn’t their only target; if the JLA came across anyone who had an evil vibe, that person was added to the research list and dealt with accordingly. Arthur Branch’s name had popped up more than once in various files that the JLA had “acquired” from 33.1 facilities, and Oliver was pretty sure he was in on at least some of Lex’s special projects. Chloe had offered to check out the man’s office and look for any documents that might give a clue to Lex’s current or future plans. After Oliver agreed, she had driven out to the Kent farmstead to talk to Clark. However, he was in full brood mode over Lana, and she knew she would not be able to stomach spending a week in Lincoln, Nebraska with him in that mood, or even if he would leave Lana for that long. So instead, she told Clark she’d be in Nebraska visiting an old family friend for a week so that he wouldn’t worry.

Chloe looked behind her again, staring back in to the growing twilight. This had started out exciting, but between breaking and entering all alone and the oncoming night, she was starting to feel uneasy. She picked up the pace, practically jogging as she turned a corner, when WHAM! She bounced off something hard and was carried backwards into and then behind the thick hedges that lined the sidewalk. Dazed, she tried to gather her wits and figure out what had happened, her heart beating like crazy.

“Hey, are you okay?” A figure was bending over her, holding her arm. Her eyes finally started to focus, enough to take in a man in a leather jacket, frowning at her. Then what happened came back to her; she had rounded the corner at a near run, and ran into this guy who had been heading in the opposite direction, apparently in a hurry himself considering the force that had taken her down.

She sat up and opened her mouth to apologize and try to get away as quickly as possible, when suddenly his head turned sideways and he appeared to focus on something farther down the sidewalk in the direction he had come from. Before she could even register what was going on, he had gathered her up in one arm, covered her mouth with his other hand, and then covered her body with his, laying them out flat underneath the leafy bushes. Her eyes went wide, and she started to make muffled noises and try to get away, but he was incredibly strong.

His mouth was suddenly moving next to her ear and a deep voice whispered, “Listen to me. I swear, I’m not going to hurt you, I just need you to be still for two minutes, okay? I don’t want him to find me.”

She froze, eyes still wide, looking at his face as it rose slightly above hers, noting the green eyes of her captor, who looked at her imploringly for a moment, then turned carefully to peek through the bushes at the sidewalk. She turned her head carefully as well, happy that he allowed it, although he still hadn’t removed his hand from her mouth. She strained to see through the thick leaves, when suddenly what appeared to be a pair of legs clad in denim strode by, and she felt the man on top of her go impossibly still. The legs slowed, and she was able to see part of a man’s body, a man who looked rather big and mean, in her estimation. The man continued walking past them, leaving her sight, but the guy above her still didn’t move; for a long moment, all she could hear was her heartbeat, and all she could feel was his. Finally, he slowly rose up and cast a look down the sidewalk. Apparently pleased with what he found, he looked back down at her, and grimaced.

“Okay, I’m going to move my hand. Please don’t scream, okay?

Chloe nodded slowly, and was relieved when he moved his hand just as he said he would. He moved back, taking her arm and helping her sit up through the bushes. Even sitting, they were still half-hidden by the thick greenery. Chloe wasn’t quite sure what her response at this point should be; get angry and scream at this guy who had held her down in the dirt, or get scared and run as fast as she could? To start with, she opted for glaring at the guy with all the force she could muster.

He lifted his hands in the air, in a show of surrender. “Look, I’m really sorry for that, but he didn’t take too kindly to losing a few rounds of pool to me, and I didn’t take too kindly to letting him try to bash my head in. I didn’t even see you coming around that corner.”

Her brain started piecing information together, remembering that there was a bar between here and where her car was parked. “So what, you were hustling pool and got caught, and then when I got in the way, decided to hold me captive in the dirt?” Her anger was starting to get the better of her, and she rose up on her knees, trying to dust herself off. She groaned as she realized how much dirt was all over her business skirt and jacket. She wished she had worn jeans, but had decided she might need to pass herself off as a local businesswoman if she got caught.

“Look, I really am sorry, let me buy you a drink and make it up to you,” and with that, he reached across from where he was sitting, and began trying to wipe the dirt off the side of her skirt with one of his hands. She looked at him in astonishment, but he just grinned at her and kept dusting her off.

She slapped his hands away. “Do you mind? I think you’ve manhandled me quite enough for one day,” she stated, happening to lift her head and glance at the sidewalk, then gasped as her eyes focused on Arthur Branch, who was carrying a briefcase and walking quickly in her direction.

“Shit!” She acted instinctively, throwing herself forward against the very surprised man in front of her, toppling him backwards and ending up lying across the top of him, face to face.

“What the Hell,” he started to bellow, but she threw a hand over his mouth and hissed at him.

“Sshh! Please, just shut up for a second!” She tried to make herself as flat against him as possible, keeping her hand over his mouth and not really caring what he thought. She turned her head and watched through the bushes, waiting, as fear crept up her throat.

It was less than a minute, but it seemed like an hour before Arthur Branch’s legs appeared through the leaves. She could tell from his steps that he was hurrying, and she wondered if he had realized that his office had been broken into. She knew that he didn’t know anything about her, and she was certain that he hadn’t seen her before she had hidden in the bushes, but it didn’t stop her from getting a hitch in her breath and trembling a bit in fear. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this spy mission stuff after all, she thought to herself as she tried to calm down as the legs disappeared from her view. She felt the man below her shift a bit, and was suddenly enveloped in his arms, feeling one of his hands stroke the back of her hair.

“Hey, it’s okay, don’t be scared,” he whispered to her. She looked down at his face wondering at the muffled quality of his voice, and blushed as she realized she was still covering his mouth with her hand. She snatched it away, and he grinned at her reddening cheeks, but there was still concern in his eyes. She tried to push away, but he held on to her easily.

“Just hang on a second. Are you okay? Is that guy following you?”

Chloe’s eyes widened. The last thing she needed was getting a stranger involved in JLA business. “No, no, no. Everything’s fine, he’s not who I thought he was; if you could just let me go, I really need to be getting out of here,” she babbled, trying to free herself from his arms.

“Wait, just wait. I’ll let you go, but don’t run away yet, okay?” He looked at her with eyebrows raised, and she nodded, trying, once again, to calm down. He nodded back, and let go of her slowly. She scooted back off of him, embarrassed all over again at how she had been lying across him. How did I manage to get into this situation, she wondered to herself ruefully, as she watched him sit up across from her. She took a deep breath and pasted a smile on her face. “Look, I’m so sorry about that, I can’t really explain, but I am sorry.”

He grinned at her. “No problem, turn about is fair play, right?”

She blushed, some more, remembering that she had been sprawled in the dirt with this stranger twice in the same night. She shook her head, sighing, and stood up slowly, looking down the sidewalk to make sure Arthur Branch was nowhere in sight. She was surprised to realize how dark it had gotten, but supposed she should be thankful that no one was out and about to witness her crawling over the hedges. Her heart was still beating rapidly, and she decided it was time to make a hasty exit and get back to her hotel as quickly as possible. She stuck her hand out at the man. “I really have to get going…I’m sorry for my part in what happened.”

He took her hand to shake it, but then didn’t let go. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to go get a drink and calm down? It’d be the least I could do after knocking you down.”

She looked up at him in surprise and saw that he was still grinning at her. Suddenly, she realized that this guy was attractive. Really attractive. She hadn’t had time to pay attention to his looks during all the excitement, but she could remember how close his green eyes had been to her own, and how focused they seemed to be on her now. Her breath caught a bit, as a butterfly or two found its way into her stomach, and her mind started working in overdrive to come up with a response. “Ah…thank you, but…I really need to get cleaned up after rolling around in the dirt with you.”

He chuckled, and she cringed as she realized what she had said. He tried again, “Okay, how about after you get cleaned up, we go out and get something to eat? I’m starved.”

She was still trying to remove her hand from his without resorting to tugging. “Look, I appreciate it, but I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Dean. And you can stop trying to pull away because I’m not letting go until you tell me yours.”

She sighed, and stopped trying to remove her hand. “Fine. I’m Chloe.”

He smiled, his eyes sparkling, and let go of her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Chloe. Where would you like to eat?”

She looked at him, incredulous. “You don’t give up easy, do you? Look, I really need to get to my car and back to my hotel. I’m…leaving town tomorrow and I need to get an early start.”

“What a coincidence, I’m leaving town tomorrow, too. Where’s your car parked, I can at least walk you to it; it’s getting pretty dark out, you know.”

She frowned a bit, not sure it would be wise to let him accompany her to her car. But he was right, it was dark, she was already jumpy, and walking through that parking garage where she knew Branch’s car had also been parked would probably scare her to death. What a wuss, she thought to herself. She pointed in the correct direction. “I’m a few blocks down, in the parking garage.”

He nodded at her. “I tell you what, I’m parked over here,” he said, pointing in the opposite direction. “Why don’t you walk with me, then I’ll drive you to your car?” He watched as she looked him up and down, and could tell that she was trying to decide which was safer, staying with a near-stranger, or walking alone in the dark. “Look, I swear, I won’t touch you…unless you want me too.” He gave her a cheeky grin.

She was unable to stop herself from grinning back; he just looked mischievous, like a little kid, and his eyes were still sparkling. She felt those butterflies take flight again and tried to stop thinking about his looks. “Alright, I wouldn’t mind some company in a dark parking garage. Lead the way.”


	2. Chapter 2

They walked together in silence. Chloe tried to keep herself busy by dusting herself off as she walked, although it really did no good. She was pretty sure her dry cleaner was going to charge her triple to clean her suit. While smoothing her jacket, she was able to surreptitiously feel the documents she had stolen still safe inside. At least she had carried out her mission, even if it had not gone as smoothly as she had hoped for. In order to get to Dean’s car, it had been necessary to pass Arthur Branch’s office, and she had tried to glance nonchalantly at the building; everything looked normal, lights out, door closed.

Dean guided her up a side street, towards an empty lot where she could see a black car parked. She looked at the classic car, clearly well taken care of, then looked over at Dean, who was looking at the car with what appeared to be a loving smile. She grinned. Boys and their toys, she thought. She cleared her throat. “You have a beautiful car.”

He grinned down at her. “She is, isn’t she? My dad gave her to me a long time ago; I try to take care of her.” He walked her to the passenger side and opened the door for her, letting her slip inside before closing it.

“I’m sorry to get all this dirt on your seat,” Chloe said as he slid into the driver’s side.

“Trust me, she’s seen a lot worse than a little dirt. Don’t worry about it.”

He drove the car out onto the street, then turned to head down to where the parking garage was located. Chloe tried to glance at him a few times, but the third time, caught him grinning right at her when she looked in his direction. She blushed and smiled, then looked straight out at the road.

“So, Chloe, you said you were leaving town. You don’t live around here?”

“No, I live in Kansas. I was just visiting a family friend here.”

“Kansas, huh? I was born in Kansas – Lawrence, Kansas. Which part are you from?”

Chloe frowned slightly. She didn’t want to give him too much personal information, but she decided she wasn’t in dangerous territory yet. “Metropolis,” she replied, then tried to change the subject. “You said you were leaving tomorrow, too. What were you in town for?”

“Oh my brother and I are on a bit of a road trip. We just happened to be passing through and thought we’d see the sights of beautiful Lincoln.”

Chloe frowned a little more. She considered herself a good investigative journalist, and she prided herself on being able to tell when someone was lying to her. She was sure that Dean just had. Something about his tone was just a little too cheerful, a little too expansive when mentioning “beautiful Lincoln”. She looked over at him and kept her eyes trained on his face. “Sounds nice. What sights did you get to see?”  
She watched as his eyes widened a bit, and could see the mental wheels turning.

“Uh…the zoo? Yeah, we visited the zoo.” He smiled, and although he hid it well, she could see the relief on his face that he had come up with an answer.

“I see,” she replied. “How old is your brother?”

He glanced at her in puzzlement. “He’s 23.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “So you and your 23 year old brother went to the Lincoln Children’s Zoo?”

His mouth opened and closed a few times, then he looked over and studied her face for a few seconds before looking back at the road. She watched as he broke into a small grin, then he looked back at her and the bottom dropped out of her stomach when he gave her hot eyes and the sexiest look she had ever seen. “Figures I’d get tangled up with a smart chick.”

It was her turn to give a credible fish impression, as her brain was going in three directions at once, trying to decide what to do next: reprimand him for calling her a ‘chick’, continue the verbal sparring to find out more about him, or slide over next to him and press her lips to his…

Whoa, she thought, and had to break their stare in order to get herself under control. She was usually much better at repressing her reactions than this; after all, she hung out with Clark all the time and had managed to get her feelings for him under control. How had this one admittedly attractive guy managed to scramble her brain like a breakfast omelet? She took a deep breath, focusing on the scenery outside the window, and saw that they were turning into the parking garage. She then realized that Dean had accomplished his objective: make her stop questioning him. And he had done it just with a look! She rolled her eyes at herself. Clearly she needed some rest if her investigative skills could get shot down that easily.

She directed him to the back of the first floor, where her Jeep was parked. She smirked a bit at it, as she always did when she caught a glimpse of her new car. Since being fired from the Daily Planet, she had devoted herself to being available to the JLA whenever they needed her. Usually that involved massive amounts of research, and occasionally being the communications person for their missions. Oliver appreciated her help, let her live in her namesake, the Watchtower, and paid her a comfortable salary. Once she had gotten settled in, she took her Yaris and traded it in on a garnet red 4x4 Jeep Wrangler. She loved it – it was bigger than the Yaris, but not too big, with four doors in case she needed to cart JLA members between the Kent Farm and Metropolis, and plenty of room in the back for gear. She also thought that it looked like a vehicle that a junior member of the Justice League of America would drive, certainly more so than her Yaris had.

Dean parked in the space next to her car and smiled at her, clearly knowing how he had affected her before. “So, where are you staying? I can come by later after we both clean up and take you out for something to eat.”

She looked at him contemplatively. God, she wanted to say yes. He was gorgeous, he was paying attention to her, and sadly, that was really all she needed to make her want to throw caution to the wind and go to dinner with this stranger – who could be a serial killer for all she knew. Clearly he was hiding something, but then again, she was the one who had committed more than one felony by breaking and entering and stealing documents that evening. And she had lied to him about why she was hiding in the bushes from Arthur Branch. He, at least, appeared to have been telling the truth to her about his pool hustling.

She made up her mind. “All right, I tell you what. I’m staying at the Lincoln Courtyard on 3rd street. Do you know where that is?” At his nod, she continued, “There’s a little pub type restaurant next door called Harry’s. I’ll be there in an hour to get something to eat. If you want to join me, you can. If you don’t show up, no harm, no foul.” She wanted to give him an out, mostly so she could stay in control of the situation. That way if he didn’t show, she could tell herself that she had given him that choice, and she could pretend that he hadn’t simply stood her up. She flashed him a smile, and got out of the car, pulling her keys out of her jacket pocket, and walked around the back of the Chevy, making note of the license tag as she did.

“Chloe.”

She turned to look at him before going to the driver’s side of her car, and he grinned at her, a beautiful, lecherous grin. “I’ll be there.”

She grinned back, nodded, and got in her car.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean smiled to himself as he pulled the car into the motel parking lot where he and Sam were sharing a room. He walked quickly up to the door and let himself in. His eyes immediately found Sam sitting on his bed against the pillows, reading some thick, dusty book. After a cursory glance to assure himself that Sam was in good health (Sam had a habit of getting into trouble when he wasn’t around), he locked the door behind him and stepped into the room.

“Hey man, good book?”

Sam glanced up at him. “Kind of boring, actually, but I want to finish it so I can give it back to Bobby next time we see him.” He looked more closely at his brother. “Dude, what happened to your clothes?”

Dean took off his jacket and tossed it on his bed, then rifled through his wallet and pulled out some of the twenty dollar bills he had “earned” at the pool table that evening and handed them to Sam. “Here, this should tide us over the next few days.”

Sam took the bills and folded them into his own wallet. “Thanks, but did you have to roll around in the dirt to get it or what?”

“Not exactly,” Dean smirked. He began rummaging in his duffel bag. “The guy I hustled had a little temper tantrum, so I had to make a hasty exit. I kind of ran into a girl, literally, and we both fell into some bushes. Now I’m going to take her out for a bite.” He flashed a grin at Sam, then grabbed some clean clothes from the bag and headed into the bathroom.

Sam shook his head and went back to his book, knowing that once Dean left, he probably wouldn’t be back until morning.

\- - - - - - - -

Chloe sat in the booth, sipping on a soda and flipping idly through a menu. She had positioned herself so she could see the entrance to the pub if Dean came through the door. Her stomach had gone from fluttering butterflies to full on twisting and turning. Why had she set herself up like this? What if he didn’t show up? What if he did show up, and ended up being an axe murderer? God, what was the matter with her?

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, exhaled, then opened her eyes again. And watched as Dean walked through the door, saw her immediately, and headed over in her direction. She was conscious of a huge sense of relief, thrilled not to have been stood up, and hopeful that he wasn’t hiding an axe under his jacket. She watched closely as he walked toward her booth, noticing that he seemed to be sweeping the pub with his eyes, taking in every little detail; where people were standing, where the exits were, she even saw his eyes note where the fire extinguisher was hanging. It was all very quick; she doubted if anyone else would have noticed it. If she hadn’t been specifically trying to glean every little detail about him that she could, she probably wouldn’t have thought twice about his sweeping glance. Chloe felt a familiar tingle of exhilaration; it was like she was investigating a story, trying to find out all the details, but in this case, it was a story of a man – how had he learned to be so careful and aware of his surroundings? What did he do for a living? Why were he and his brother on a road trip? How good of a kisser was he?

Wait – backtrack. That was not a valid question for an investigative journalist. Chloe shook her head as her thoughts threatened to run in the wrong direction again, and suddenly he was sliding into the booth across from her, smiling.

“Hey, beautiful.”

Chloe smiled at him, rolling her eyes a little. “Hey, yourself. I’m glad you came – you didn’t have to.”

“Sure I did – told you I owed you after knocking you down. Least I can do is buy you a drink. Most I can do is – well, we can get to that later.” He grinned at her. “So what’s good to eat here?”

“Well, I haven’t tried everything, but the cheese fries are good, and the wings. One of the hotel employees told me they liked the burgers here.”

“Sounds great.”

A waitress stepped up then and took their order; burger, fries and a beer for Dean, a chicken sandwich, fries, and a beer – at Dean’s urging - for Chloe.

“Do you like beer? Or would you rather have some frou-frou drink?”

“I like beer. But I’m okay with just soda.”

“Make it two beers, one for each of us.”

The waitress nodded and walked away. Chloe smiled across the table at him. “So, where’s the brother you told me about?”

“Oh, Sam’s back at the motel, reading some dusty book.”

“He could have come to eat, it wouldn’t have bothered me.” Actually, it probably would have bothered her to be faced with making small talk with two guys instead of one, but she was trying to get Dean to reveal more information about himself.

“Well, Sammy can be kind of a killjoy in bars. He’d rather be tappin’ away on his computer or have his nose stuck in a book.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad. I’ve been known to spend a little time on my laptop.”

“Yeah well, Sam can get downright obsessive about that thing. God forbid anyone else try to use it for any perfectly legitimate reason.”

Chloe arched an eyebrow. “So he doesn’t like it when you use his computer for your own personal enjoyment?”

Dean grinned at her. “That’s definitely one way of putting it.” He watched as the waitress came back to the table, set their beers and food down, and walked away. “So tell me about yourself, Chloe,” he said, taking a swig from the bottle and picking up a French fry. “What do you do when you’re not rolling around in the dirt with attractive men?”

“I’m a consultant for a large company. I kind of oversee some of their communications and research efforts.” It was the best kind of lie, one that was hidden in half-truth.

“I see. That sounds – interesting.”

Chloe laughed at his tone. “No it doesn’t, it sounds boring to you; you can say so.”

Dean looked at her kind of sheepishly. “Well, I’m kind of more of a mechanically inclined guy, myself.”

“I suppose you must be, to keep your car in such great shape.”

Dean nodded enthusiastically. “Yep, I do all the work on her; don’t let anyone else touch her.”

Chloe smiled. “Where did you learn how to work on cars?”

Dean’s smile faltered a bit. “From my dad – he was a top-notch mechanic. He taught me everything I know.”

Chloe took note of his tone, and the use of the past tense. She leaned back against the booth. “I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to bring up anything painful.”

Dean grimaced a little. “No, it’s okay, not your fault. We – lost our dad a while back ago. He was…” Dean stopped, and took another pull of his beer. “He was larger than life, but he’s gone now. I still have to get used to thinking of him that way.”

Chloe’s eyes were troubled. She placed her hand over his. “I’m sorry, Dean. I know what it’s like to lose someone important.”

Dean gave her a grateful smile, but then began to feel uncomfortable. This was definitely turning into a chick-flick moment, and he needed to find a way to maneuver out of it. The weird thing was that he had given any number of sob stories to plenty of pretty girls over the years, to get them into bed, and never given it a second thought. But for some reason, he had told a true story to Chloe, one of the most painful stories he had; just blurted it out without thinking.

He looked at her hand over his, and flipped his hand over, switching their holds so that he was now gently holding hers. “So I asked you to tell me about yourself, but somehow managed to do most of the talking. I know you handle research and communications, know your way around a computer, and probably like books too. Smart chicks are sexy, by the way.” He leaned forward and gave her a slow, seductive smile. “So what else do you do for fun?”

Her heartbeat sped up a little, from the pressure of his hand on hers, and from the look on his face that promised a really good time. “I, uh – I’m a reporter.” Crap, that was not something she meant to say. “I mean, I used to be a reporter. In high school, I was editor of the school paper. Then I interned at the Daily Planet for awhile. Now I just write articles for my own blog online.”

“Really? What do you write about?” He took a bite of his burger using his right hand; his left hand was still holding her right one, and his thumb was slowly stroking hers. He acted unaware of what he was doing, but Chloe was sure that he knew.

“Mostly about weird stuff, the paranormal, psychic ability, odd occurrences, that kind of thing.”

She was unprepared for Dean’s reaction to her words. He released her hand, his eyes were suddenly very sharp on hers and he suddenly seemed very aloof, like he had just built a wall between them.

“Why would you write about that kind of stuff?”

Chloe didn’t want to get into the meteor rock craziness that was too close to her own personal issues. She was already mentally kicking herself for mentioning details. “Oh, well, some people find that sort of article interesting – reading about abilities that they don’t have, wondering what it would be like to live a different kind of life.”

Dean nodded, but he still seemed suspicious, for some reason. “Do you ever write about people with actual abilities, or is it all just supposition?”

Chloe frowned slightly. She wanted a way out of this conversation. Clearly Dean was bothered by something having to do with the paranormal. Maybe he didn’t believe in it, maybe he thought she was crazy for writing about it. She tried to choose her words carefully. “I’ve written about people who believe they have abilities, yes. It’s just a hobby, really, no big deal.” She busied herself with taking a bite of her sandwich and picking at her French fries.

“So you wrote for a newspaper? Maybe I’ve read some of your articles. What’s your last name?”

Chloe looked up at him. He was smiling at her, a little, but his eyes were still very sharp. She battled with herself for a minute over giving him her name, but then decided to go ahead. “It’s Sullivan. Chloe Sullivan. What’s yours?”

He smirked at her. “Richards.”

“Dean Richards?”

“That’s right.” He was looking at her easily, and the name seemed to have rolled off his tongue without any trouble. She wasn’t sure though. Maybe I’m being too paranoid, she thought. She looked at his eyes, still trying to pierce hers, and decided she needed a breather to gather her thoughts. She began to slide out of the booth.

“Look, I’m going to step away for a minute. I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time.” He gave her a lazy smile before she turned away.

Dean watched as Chloe walked away from the booth toward the back of the restaurant, and saw her turn as she followed the signs to the restrooms. He grabbed his phone, and hit the speed dial.

“Hello?”

“Sammy, you awake?”

“Yes, what’s wrong?”

“Not sure, might be nothing. But I want you to get on the laptop and look up a name – Chloe Sullivan. She’s from Metropolis, she used to work at the Daily Planet, and she has one of those blog-thingies.”

“Does she like holding hands and long walks in the park, too? Why do you have me checking up on tonight’s girl?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Look, she mentioned that she writes about paranormal stuff – including people with psychic abilities.”

Sam was silent for a moment. “Do you think she knows about me? Did she set you up?”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know, dude. It didn’t feel like that, but when she mentioned those articles…and she’s real easy to talk to.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just…I don’t know, I think she might be able to tell when I’m lying. I gave her a fake last name, and I’m not sure she bought it.”

“Maybe she already knows who you are; maybe this is a set up. Dean, I think you need to get away from her.”

Dean slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his holy water flask. “Don’t worry Sammy, I don’t get a dangerous vibe from her; she’s just different. I’ll test her, make sure she’s not possessed.”

“Even if she’s not a demon, she could be any number of other things.”

“I know. If she is, I’ll deal with it. Look, just find out what you can about her, and I’ll be back later. If you don’t hear from me by midnight, I’m in Harry’s Pub next to the Lincoln Courtyard on 3rd street. That’s where she’s staying. I gotta go, she’ll be coming back soon.”

“Dean, be careful.”

“I will.” He clicked off his phone and slid it in his pocket, then poured a little of the holy water onto his fingertips. He glanced up to make sure Chloe wasn’t in sight, then ran his fingers over her bottle of beer so that the holy water would blend with the condensation. He thought about pouring it directly into the beer, but if she was possessed that would make a huge scene, and he didn’t want any of these innocent people getting caught up in his mess. If she dropped the bottle and spilled it, well, that was a normal enough occurrence in a pub.

He slipped the flask back in his pocket just as he saw her returning down the aisle, and smiled at her.

“Hey.”

She smiled back. “Hey.” She looked at her plate, knew she wouldn’t be able to eat anymore, and pushed it back away from her so the waitress would know to take it away.

“Do you want a box or anything; you could take it back to the room with you for a midnight snack?” He grinned at her, then picked up his beer and sipped from the bottle.

“No, I think I’m good. I’ll finish my beer though.” She picked up the bottle and took a few swallows.

Dean eyed her carefully from around his own bottle. She didn’t flinch at all, there was no rising steam from her hand, and her eyes stayed perfectly normal. He nodded to himself, certain that she wasn’t possessed.

The waitress came up with the bill. He pulled his wallet from his pocket, slid a credit card out and handed it to her. The waitress walked away, and he turned his eyes back to Chloe. “So, do you have plans for the evening?”

Chloe looked at his teasing smirk, and felt her stomach start to flip again. “Well, I’ll probably just see what’s on TV, watch some stupid sitcom, then go to bed. I have a long drive back home tomorrow. But you’re heading out, too, right? Where’s the next stop on your road trip?”

“Uh, actually, I’m not sure yet. Sam’s choosing the next place to visit, he’ll let me know tomorrow.”

“Really? So you don’t have an itinerary, you just kind of drive whatever direction you feel like?” Chloe wondered what it would be like to just wander around the country at will, with no definite direction.

“Yeah, you know, if we hear of something we feel like checking out, that’s where we go next. Probably sounds kind of crazy…”

“No, I think it sounds like fun. Kind of a freeing experience, nothing tying you down. Getting to stay in a new place every week.”

“Oh yeah, I think we’ve hit every rundown motel between here and the border. They’ve all been charming.” He rolled his eyes.

Chloe smiled. “I suppose road tripping doesn’t exactly pay the bills, so you’ve gotta keep costs down.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

The waitress returned and laid the bill and the credit card on the table. “Here you go, Mr. Ulrich. Y’all have a nice night.”

Chloe’s eyes flashed down to the credit card where she saw the name engraved underneath the number. Lars Ulrich. Her brain suddenly hit overdrive. He had admitted to hustling pool. His credit card was obviously under an assumed name, or was stolen. He was on a wandering road trip and purposely stayed in rundown motels. She was suddenly very, very sure that his name wasn’t Dean Richards. She looked back at his face, and saw that he was watching her, that he knew what was going through her mind. Shit.

“Look, don’t freak out okay? I can explain…”

Chloe shook her head. “No, that’s fine. I appreciate the dinner, but I really need to go.” Her flight response was overwhelming; she wanted to run as fast as she could. She grabbed her purse, slid out of the booth, and walked as quickly as possible out of the restaurant.

“Damn it!” Dean signed the check quickly, then headed out of the restaurant after her.

She had made it halfway between the restaurant and her hotel when he caught up to her.

“Wait, Chloe,” he said, starting to grab her arm, but she spun around, pulling her hand out of her purse, grasping her taser, and shoved it towards his chest. He saw it coming, and deflected her arm with his left hand, knocking the taser to the ground. He grasped her wrists and pulled them together, holding them tight in one hand while wrapping his other arm around her and pulling her flush against him. She tilted her face up to look at his, her eyes glaring, and took a deep breath, fully intending to let it back out in a scream…when his mouth descended on hers, making her swallow the scream in surprise. She went still in shock for a few seconds, just feeling his lips rest against her bottom lip. Then he began to speak against her mouth. “Chloe, don’t scream. I just want to talk, I swear I’m not going to hurt you, don’t scream.”

She nodded, and he lifted his head back from hers. She glared at him, her heart racing a mile a minute. “Let me go. Now.”

He released her hands, and let go of her waist. She quickly stepped back a few paces from him. “I don’t know who you are or what you want, but there are people who will be looking for me tomorrow if I don’t show up on time, so why don’t you just get away from me and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

Dean shook his head. “I didn’t intend for this to happen, I was just trying to take a pretty girl to dinner.” He looked rueful, then muttered. “I should know better than to get mixed up with smart chicks.”

“God, first of all, stop calling me a chick. Second, maybe you’re right, you should stick to drunk sorority girls who are too dumb to know they’re drinking with a criminal!”

“Look, I admit, I’ve run a few credit card scams before, but I would never have hurt you – or any other girl. I liked meeting you, and I thought –“.

“Meeting me? You practically ran over me. And I don’t even know your real name, I hardly think that counts as –“.

“Hey, you ran into me too! And you do know my name, it’s Dean.”

“Dean what? And don’t say Richards, I already know that was a lie.” She crossed her arms and lifted an eyebrow, daring him to tell the truth.

He looked into her face, wondering what she would do if she detected another lie. Probably run away again. And he knew he should let her. This whole night had pretty much gone to shit; he was certain there was no chance of ending up in the pretty blonde’s bed. He ought to just walk away now; and yet, he felt bad about scaring her, and he was intrigued with her ability to tell when he was lying. And also, her lips had been awful soft under his…he rolled his eyes at himself. “Dean Winchester.”

“Winchester? How do I know you’re not lying again?”

“What, you can’t tell? You seemed to be pretty good at it, earlier. I’m Dean Winchester, my brother is Sam Winchester, my dad was John Winchester. Happy?”

She tilted her head, searching his face, then nodded. “Fine.”

“Fine,” he replied, giving her a smirk.

Chloe sighed, uncrossed her arms, and relaxed her stance. “Look, it’s getting late, and I think I’ve had enough fun for one evening. Why don’t you go on back to your car, I’ll go on back to my room, and we’ll call it a night, okay?”

Dean grinned at her. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to walk you to your room?”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Have you forgotten that I know you apparently fund your road tripping with credit card scams and pool hustling? Aren’t you afraid I might alert the authorities?”

“Nah, you’d have already been screaming bloody murder if you were going to turn me in. And, hey, pool hustling is an important skill, and it happens to be one I’m very good at. In fact, if you ever want someone to teach you to shoot pool…” he trailed off, leering at her.

Despite herself, Chloe’s lips curved into a smile. She stuck her hand out. “It’s been nice meeting you, Dean Winchester. Try not to run into any more smart girls in the future.”

He covered her hand in his. “Trust me, I’ll be avoiding them like the plague.” He smirked at her, then turned and walked towards his car. She watched as he exited the parking lot and drove out of sight down the street before she grabbed her taser from the ground and hurried across to her hotel. She walked quickly through the lobby, barely acknowledging the receptionist’s greeting, and practically raced to her room, where she locked the door behind her, and sighed in relief.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean entered the motel room, locking the door and then throwing his keys on the table. Sam was sitting there, reading something from his laptop. He looked up at his older brother with concern.

“Hey man, are you alright?”

“Yeah, fine. It’s been a long night already. What did you find on Chloe?” He sat down on the edge of the bed, facing Sam, who turned the laptop so he could see the screen.

“This is her online blog. It has articles going back for years, all about paranormal activity and people with strange powers. In earlier articles, she refers to them as meteor freaks, although I noticed she hasn’t used that term in her more recent postings.”

“Meteor freaks? What the hell are they?”

“She went to high school in a town called Smallville. It’s near Metropolis. Apparently, there have been multiple meteor showers in that town, and the meteor rocks carry some kind of substance that causes people to do weird things, or seems to give them psychic abilities.”

“Well, that sounds nice and crazy. Are you sure that it’s not spirits or something else causing the odd stuff?”

“I don’t know, I guess it could be, but she’s researched this pretty thoroughly. You’d be amazed at how in-depth some of these articles are. I looked up some of her stuff from the Daily Planet too; she’s actually a pretty good reporter, from the looks of it.” Sam looked up at his brother. “Dean, how did your dinner go? I assume she wasn’t possessed?”

Dean snorted. “No, she wasn’t possessed, and she’s definitely human. I don’t think it was a set-up, or that she knew anything about us. Although…she kind of does now.”

Sam looked at him in alarm. “What do you mean?”

Dean grimaced. “Well, she knows our names, and she knows about the credit card scams and the pool hustling.” He saw Sam looking at him in disbelief. “I’m sorry man, I told you, it was really hard to lie to her. And she kept putting two and two together and getting four.”

Sam cocked an eyebrow. “Are you saying you’re no match for a girl with math skills? I could have told you that.”

“Shut up.”

\----------------------

Chloe entered the top floor of the Watchtower, laying her bags down on a table. It had been a long, all day ride back from Nebraska, and she was relieved to be home. She loved living in the Watchtower, and being able to look over the city of Metropolis at night, when all the buildings were lit up. She always felt safe and protected here, and it wasn’t just because of Oliver’s state-of-the-art security system. She and the building were like two halves of the complete Watchtower package; she felt almost invincible whenever she was running communications for a JLA mission from her home base. She had thanked Oliver for allowing her to live here so many times that he had threatened to make her move if she did it again.

Remembering that Oliver would be expecting her to check in, she pulled the stolen documents out of her bag and placed them on the scanner, downloading them to the JLA shared network. She then grabbed her cell phone and dialed Oliver’s number, expecting to leave a message on his voicemail, but smiled when she heard him pick up.

“Oliver Queen.”

“Hey Oliver, it’s Chloe.”

“Watchtower, good to hear from you. How did your mission go?”

“It went well. I’ve downloaded some documents to the network that I think you’ll be interested in.”

“Excellent. So you were in and out, no incidents? Boy Scout back home too?”

Chloe grimaced to herself, thinking of her run-in with a certain pool hustler, but pushed that aside. “No, no incidents. Thanks for the lock picking kit, by the way; worked like a charm. And Clark didn’t go with me.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “You did this alone, with no backup? I thought I told you to take Boy Scout for safety.”

“You suggested it. But Clark was – tied up with something, so I handled it myself. It was a simple mission, nothing dangerous, and can we focus on the part where it was successful?”

“As soon as I’m done focusing on the part where if you had been hurt, no one would have known until it was too late. Seriously, Chloe, you should have called and told me you were going in alone. If I had known Clark wasn’t there, I would have sent Impulse up to shadow you. Or at least set a tighter time schedule for you to check in. You’re a member of my team, and I do everything I can to make sure my team stays safe.”

Chloe sighed, not loving the reprimand, but appreciating his concern for his team. “Alright Oliver, you win. Next time, I’ll keep you in the loop.”

“Good. And Watchtower – congratulations on a successful mission. I’m proud of you.”

Chloe grinned. “Thanks.” Then she heard the line disconnect, and snapped her own phone shut.

A couple of hours later, Chloe sat down at her computer, a steaming cup of coffee within reach, feeling refreshed. She had showered and changed into her favorite tank and pajama bottoms, and left a message on Clark’s voicemail letting him know she was back in Metropolis. She was ready to tackle the subject that had been on her mind during the entire drive home. Dean Winchester.

She started with the basics, running his license tag number through the Kansas DMV and finding that the 1967 Chevy Impala was registered to a Dean Young. A few more taps on the keyboard got her a copy of his car insurance, with a Sam Young listed as an alternate driver. A Google search on Dean Young didn’t pull any additional information, and Sam Young was a dead end as well. She then went to work checking out the names Dean, Sam, and John Winchester, and cross referencing with the local newspaper in Lawrence, Kansas.

It was only a matter of minutes before she found the article detailing the house fire, attributed to bad electrical wiring, that had taken the life of Mary Winchester, wife of John, mother of Dean and Sam. She shook her head, wondering how much influence this sad occurrence had on the life that Dean apparently led. She remembered that Dean had indicated his father had passed away recently, but she was unable to find any reference to that event. After an hour of more digging, the only other information she found were yearbook photos for both Dean and Sam from a K-8 school in South Dakota.

Using the JLA’s access to the FBI database, she searched the files and was disturbed to find a match for Dean. Opening the file, she read through it quickly, her jaw dropping in horror as she read that he had been the prime suspect in a series of serial killings. Oh my God, I really did go to dinner with a serial killer! But he was listed as “Deceased”. Chloe shook her head, not understanding. Had he faked his death? Then she found the picture of his corpse in the morgue. It was definitely the same man she had gone to dinner with. How could that be, she wondered. It suddenly occurred to her that she knew of one other person who had entered a morgue dead but somehow walked out of it alive. Herself.

Chloe tapped her pencil against her chin. Could Dean Winchester be a meteor freak like her? She had no proof he’d ever been exposed to meteor rock, but with all of his travelling about, it was possible he had passed through Smallville at some point and gotten infected. Was that why he had acted so strangely when she mentioned her articles about paranormal abilities? Was he afraid of being exposed as a freak?

It was a plausible explanation, but something was still bothering her. As nervous as she had been about meeting a stranger for dinner, and as strange as their final confrontation had been, he hadn’t hurt her. Really hadn’t even tried to hurt her. He’d stopped her from shocking him with the taser, and held her still, but then had let go at her request. He could have easily dragged her off into the bushes or back to his car and killed her, but here she was, safe and sound at home. If he was as dangerous as the FBI seemed to think, she shouldn’t still be alive.

It occurred to her that she should alert the FBI that Dean Winchester was still alive and roaming the country. If the FBI were correct, he needed to be found and put in jail before he hurt someone else. But what if they were wrong? Clearly there was something else going on, something paranormal that would explain how Dean could be both dead and alive at the same time. What if there was another explanation for the serial killings as well?

Chloe decided she needed to find out for sure if Dean Winchester had killed those innocent people, or if there was another explanation. And that meant she needed to find Dean Winchester himself. Clearing off the websites she had been running, and opening a link through a secure server, she hacked into the database for the credit card she had seen Dean use at dinner. She remembered seeing the last two digits on the card, 56, at the same time she had read the name. And there it was – Lars Ulrich with 56 as the last two digits. She checked the recent charges on the card and found one for Harry’s Pub, and also one for a gas station in Lincoln. There was a remaining limit of just over one thousand dollars on the card, so she figured he would be using it for a while longer. Hopefully, long enough for her to catch up to him.


	5. Chapter 5

One week after his run-in with Chloe, Dean was still thinking about the pretty blonde. He had been taken aback by her ability to sense when he was lying; no other girl had ever been able to do that. He had started lying at an early age, first to motel managers and school authorities on the whereabouts of his father, then to the other kids at various schools about why his family moved around so much. Once his father had started teaching him the tricks of the hunting trade, lying had become a necessity. Credit card scams, posing as various authority figures, even hustling and gambling had become requirements for survival. And Dean had gotten very, very good at surviving. He considered himself a master at lying, and the easiest lies in the world were the ones told to pretty girls. A smooth lie and a seductive smile led to a stolen kiss and much more, every time. Well, every time but one. Only one failure, but it rankled.

He and Sam had arrived in Pueblo, Colorado two days ago. Sam had found some articles about mysterious deaths at the Colorado Mental Health Institute. A little research had revealed that one of the oldest buildings on the property, formerly known as the Colorado State Insane Asylum, had recently been reopened for appraisal, after years of being locked up and basically condemned. Apparently, the newer facilities were starting to fill up, so the administration was looking into renovating the old building for more space. Three weeks ago, a building contractor had been in the process of assessing the east stairwell when he had suddenly decided to bludgeon his head against the concrete wall, repeatedly, until there was “more brain matter outside of his skull than inside.” This according to Sam, who had chosen to give Dean the details of the case while the latter was chowing down on spaghetti at the Pasta Amore, just inside the Colorado border. Dean had almost had to stop eating. Almost.

The day after the contractor’s death, members of the local police force had been milling about the building, looking for anything suspicious. One of them got separated from the group, and was finally found lying dead in an old procedure room, having apparently stabbed himself in the stomach with a pair of surgical scissors. The building had been left alone since, the administrators being at a loss as to how to proceed.

Dean and Sam had worked asylum cases before, and were pretty sure that spirits of previous “guests” had been holed up in the old building for a while, so it was just a matter of finding where the remains were and employing the salt and burn technique. The problem was that they didn’t know which asylum inmates were responsible, or where any of them were buried. The asylum building had been shut down long before records were kept on a computer, and the local library had provided no clues. The next step was to check the asylum itself, which was that evening’s plan. The past two nights had been spent hunting down the burial sites for the contractor and policeman and caring for those corpses in the same manner, in order to break the cycle. What they didn’t know was that their activities on the second night had been observed.

\---------------------

The day after Chloe had made the decision to find Dean Winchester, she started making preparations to put her plan into action. She packed a bag of clothes and necessities and set it by the door, along with her laptop case holding all of the equipment she needed to access the JLA servers while on the road. She packed a cooler of provisions in her car, and then called and left messages on Oliver’s and Clark’s cell phones, telling them she was heading out to interview someone for her blog and she’d be away from the Watchtower for a few days, but that she would have her cell phone and laptop with her. When a charge from an Italian restaurant in Burlington, Colorado was added to Dean’s credit card, she grabbed her bags and headed out the door.

She found the Adobe Valley Motel in the late afternoon of Dean and Sam’s second day in Pueblo. She saw the Impala immediately, and drove up the street a bit to park in a small grocery store parking lot, from where she could just make out the trunk of the Impala. Dean knew what her car looked like, and she didn’t want to take any chances on him recognizing her. She waited there until after dusk, when she saw the Impala start to pull out of the motel parking lot. She followed from a long distance, always keeping them barely in sight, with multiple cars between them. After half an hour, she was surprised to see them turn off into the entrance of the Mountain View Cemetery. She drove past the entrance and turned down the next street, and parked beside the fence that separated the cemetery from the road.

This has got to be in the top five creepiest things I’ve ever done, she thought to herself, as she picked her way around tombstones and crypts. She was thankful for the half moon that cast a little light across the graveyard. She was carrying her flashlight, but hadn’t turned it on yet, not wanting to alert the brothers to her presence. Finally, she was able to pick out the outline of the Impala next to a stand of oak trees in what was almost the very back of the cemetery. As she crept closer, she could hear the sounds of shoveling. Grave desecration? Gross. She stopped about one hundred feet away, hiding behind a family vault and laid down on her stomach so she could peek her head around the corner just enough to watch. Both men continued digging with shovels until the taller one jumped up out of the grave and walked to the Impala, coming back with two containers, one of which appeared to be a fuel can. That must be Sam Winchester, she thought. She could tell that the one still digging was Dean. Suddenly, he threw the shovel up on to the ground, and she lost sight of him for a moment as he bent down into the grave. Then he was pulling himself up to stand beside Sam, who started pouring the contents of both containers into the hole. She watched as Dean struck a match and threw it down into the grave, and heard the eruption of flames on fuel. Both men stood there a few moments watching, then began shoveling the dirt back into the hole. Chloe lay as still as she possibly could, watching them finish their task, place the shovels and containers in the trunk, then slide into the front of the car and drive away.

Once the Impala was out of sight, Chloe picked herself off the ground and turned her flashlight on, then walked over to the freshly disturbed grave. She made note of the name on the tombstone, Carl Evans, then ran her flashlight over the ground around the grave. She noticed some shiny white speckles in the dirt and ran her fingers through them. Salt? They had…salted and burned a corpse? Chloe frowned. She had heard of salting and burning corpses to release evil spirits, but that just seemed…ridiculous. Did the Winchester brothers practice some kind of voodoo or crazy cult religion? She was suddenly aware of being very alone in a very dark graveyard, and decided it was time to get back to her car. She started out walking, telling herself there was no reason to be afraid, but she was running before she had made it ten steps.


	6. Chapter 6

Chloe was bored, and tired. She had checked in late the night before at a Holiday Inn around the corner from the Adobe Valley Motel, but had difficulty sleeping after her experience of running through a graveyard. She had checked the locks on her door at least three times in the night before finally falling asleep. She was a little disappointed in herself for being so paranoid and fearful, but was unable to do anything about it. Guess that’s why I’ll always be a junior member of the Justice League, she had scoffed to herself on her third trip to check the locks. I’ll bet Clark and Oliver never double check their locks.

She had woken up at 8 AM, and afraid that the Winchester boys might have left town, rushed to reclaim her parking spot at the grocery store. She was relieved to see the Impala still parked in front of their motel room. An hour later, Dean had left the motel and driven away alone, returning shortly after carrying what appeared to be a bag of fast food breakfast and a tray with two cups, probably coffee. Around lunchtime, Sam left the motel, but he didn’t get into the Impala. Instead he proceeded to walk up the street towards the grocery store where Chloe was parked, causing her to have a minor freak out about whether she should quickly drive away. Instead she opted for ducking down in the seat, remembering that Sam had never seen her or her car, and presumably had no reason to suspect someone of watching him. He entered the grocery store, coming out a few minutes later carrying two paper bags in his arms. Chloe guessed that the bags held both lunch and supplies.

Neither of them had left the room again, and dusk had fallen. In her Jeep, Chloe had used up one of her computer batteries while researching the name from the tombstone. She found the article detailing the death of Carl Evans in an old asylum building at the Colorado Mental Health Institute, which led her to the article about Burt Hoffman, a contractor who had died in the same building, and whose death Carl Evans had been investigating. Chloe’s investigative senses had started tingling almost immediately. Two suicides within days of each other in a building that hadn’t seen the light of day in decades seemed incredibly coincidental. And both victims had chosen a manner of death that seemed especially painful and unlikely. She found herself wanting to visit the asylum and look for clues, but was unwilling to give up her stake out. She was relieved when the Impala finally backed out of its motel parking space, both brothers visible through the back windshield.

She followed the Impala the same way she had the previous night and was amazed when they passed by the Colorado Mental Health Institute, turning onto a side dirt road that ran parallel to the property. She drove past the street where they turned, giving them a minute to get out of sight, before making a u-turn and heading back. Once she turned on to the same street, she flipped her headlights off and slowly eased the Jeep up the road until she could just make out the black car parked beside a tall chain-link fence on the right hand side of the road. She could see there was a three story building a few hundred feet inside the fence, and knew instinctively that it was the old asylum.

Chloe was stumped. Why were they here? Dean hadn’t seemed the reporter type, so she didn’t think they were working a story. Private investigators, maybe? That didn’t seem plausible, either, and how would the grave digging and corpse burning fit in? She watched as the two figures opened the car trunk and pulled some kind of equipment out of the back. From that distance, she couldn’t be certain, but she was pretty sure they were arming themselves with guns. Wow, she thought. First gas and salt, now guns. I would really like to look into that trunk.

Chloe watched as the brothers scaled the fence and threw themselves over the other side. She sighed, wishing she were more athletically inclined; there was no way she could get herself over that fence without breaking an ankle. She debated with herself for a moment – did she even really want to follow them into that dark building, at night, where two deaths had recently occurred? She rolled her eyes at herself, and stuffed her taser and keys into her jacket pockets. There was a story in that building, and she wanted it. Besides, her whole reason for being in Colorado at all was to find out if Dean Winchester was a serial killer who needed to be apprehended. She definitely wasn’t going to learn anything sitting outside the fence in the dark.

Chloe watched as Dean and Sam entered the old asylum building, then pulled her car off to the opposite side of the road and got out, holding her flashlight, and jogged over to the fence. She followed it farther down the property line, until she came to a gate that had been chained closed. She pushed against the gate with all her strength and was able to squeeze through the gap. She ran across the grass to the east side of the asylum, and flattened herself against the wall. She turned her head, peering carefully into the glass window. She squinted, trying to see inside, but it was too dark. Wait – Chloe thought she saw a beam of light, then another one. Flashlights, she thought, and slid back against the wall, then ducked down and crawled beneath the window, making her way around to the front of the building. Figuring that the brothers were probably occupied checking out the east stairwell where the contractor had died, she turned her flashlight on and crossed the threshold.

She wrinkled her nose and stifled a gag as she entered what appeared to have been the lobby. The building just smelled filthy, like old concrete and old shoes mixed together with a chaser of vomit. The lobby looked bare and gray, with an old wood table and some empty shelves sitting against the far wall. There was a doorway, with no door, to her left, and she walked over slowly, shining her flashlight down what appeared to be a hallway. Knowing that Dean and Sam had been in the left side of the building and not wanting to follow too closely, she turned back to the lobby, where another doorway, this one complete with closed door, stood to the right of the furniture. She tried the handle, which turned easily, and shined her flashlight down another hallway, which appeared to lead deeper into the building. She could see multiple doors dotting the hallway, so leaving the door behind her open, she made her way to the first doorway on the left. Opening it, she flashed her light around a small, square room, completely empty. Closing the door softly, she made her way to the next one, opening it to find all of the walls covered in shelves holding lots of moldy books and stacks of old paper. Resolving to come back and review the contents, she left the room and moved on to the first door on the right, which opened to a wide room with multiple windows covered in cobwebs dotting the far wall. Chloe shined her flashlight around the room, although it was partially lit by the moonlight through the windows. There were tables and shelves around the room, all holding various dusty medical instruments or books. In the middle of the room was a table, long enough for a person to lie on, and when her flashlight found a large red stain on the floor nearby, she knew she’d found the surgical procedure room where Carl Evans had died.

Chloe walked over to the bloodstain and looked down at it, wondering what could have caused the policeman to commit suicide while in this room. She was suddenly aware of a prickling down the back of her neck, and a sense of being watched. She turned to look at the open doorway, but no one was there. Her eyes panned across the windows, but there was nothing to see except cobwebs. She slipped her taser out of her jacket, feeling slightly more at ease, and looked back down at the bloodstain, noticing handprints where Carl Evans must have dragged his hand across the floor. Chloe’s eyes went wide as she felt a presence enter the space behind her, and spun around again to find what her mind could only register as a walking male corpse towering over her, with milky eyes and deep gashes sewn up across its face. She screamed and swung her taser into the corpse’s abdomen, noticing too late the gaping hole in its belly, which proceeded to make a sickening squishing sound as her taser made contact, and she could feel the inside of his flesh soft and wet against her hand. Unaffected by the taser, the corpse grasped her right arm in its left hand, holding her in place, while pulling back its right arm. Chloe caught sight of the scissors in its right hand and, dropping the taser, brought both hands up to catch its wrist, screaming incoherently for it to stop. She felt the weight of its arm press down on her, knowing she would not be able to keep it from stabbing those sharp scissors into her, when she was almost deafened from the sound of a shotgun, her eyes automatically snapping shut and feeling something sand-like rain down on her skin. She was suddenly aware that the corpse was no longer holding her, and opened her eyes to see that it had disappeared. She turned her head towards the doorway, where Dean Winchester stood, shotgun in hand, staring at her.


	7. Chapter 7

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Chloe stared at Dean, still processing what had just happened. The corpse had been on the brink of stabbing her with a pair of surgical scissors, and then had just suddenly disappeared, no body and no blood left behind, despite being hit with a shotgun shell. She glanced at her hand, remembering the feel of the corpse’s blood and flesh against her skin, but there was no trace to be seen. She looked down at the floor, saw a sprinkling of white grains, and remembered feeling something like sand hitting her face. She looked back at Dean, eyes wide.

“Did you just shoot that thing with salt?”

Dean glared at her. “My question first, Chloe” he replied. “What. The hell. Are you doing here?”

Chloe ignored him, her mind scrambling to put all the pieces together, and looked at the bloodstained floor. “Carl Evans was killed with scissors, in this room. You salted and burned his body…to keep his spirit from returning? You probably did the same to the contractor – Burt Hoffman.” She looked back up at Dean, noticing that Sam was standing behind him, watching her with a small frown. “You shot the corpse with salt and it disappeared…because it was the physical manifestation of a spirit. It was going to kill me with scissors, just like it killed Carl Evans, but no one else would have seen the spirit, and it would have just looked like another suicide.”

“Chloe, stop for a minute.”

“Where did you learn about salting and burning corpses? How did you know there was a spirit here? Why did you – wait. You said that Sam was choosing the next place to visit on your road trip, and then you came here. This is what you do on your road trip – hunt spirits? That’s why you hustle pool and run credit card scams, to finance your hunting?”

Sam was looking at Chloe in amazement, then glanced at Dean. “Dude, that was…” he trailed off.

Dean smirked. “Told you she was a smart chick.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I can see why you were out of your league.”

“Hey!”

Chloe glared at them both. “Hello! Standing right here. And don’t call me a chick.” She frowned at Dean, who just kept smirking at her. “Does being shot with salt mean the spirit is gone for good?”

Sam responded first. “No, it just sort of scares them off for a while. We need to find out who the spirit is, or was, and where the body is buried.” He stepped around Dean and began examining the shelves.

“So once you salt and burn the real corpse, this spirit will stop killing?”

“Yes,” Sam replied, as she watched him flip through what appeared to be old medical journals.

“Chloe.”

Chloe turned back to look at Dean, who had walked farther into the room, positioning himself so that both the room and the open doorway were in his line of sight, but he was focused on her.

“Why are you here?”

Chloe swallowed, not quite sure how to explain her real reason for being there, and decided to work her way up to it. “I read the newspaper articles about the two suicides in this building, and thought it might make a good story for my blog. I told you, I write about weird occurrences and paranormal activity.”

“You don’t seem surprised to see us in here.”

“I saw you scaling the fence when I drove up.”

Dean looked her up and down, and started to look amused. “Did you scale the fence to get in here?”

“Uh, no, I don’t do the Human Fly thing. I found a gate and pushed my way in.”

Sam walked over to stand next to Dean. “I hate to interrupt, but we really need to find out where this thing is buried before it comes back. There’s nothing useful in here.”

Chloe looked at him. “There’s a room down the hall that looks like it has all sorts of old documents. There might be some written records of what they did with the inmates when they died.”  
“Great.” Dean swept his hand out toward the doorway. “Lead the way.”

Chloe sighed, screwing up her courage. She wanted to focus on solving the mystery of what was going on in the asylum, and she also wanted to learn more about Dean and Sam and their hunting. But she had to get this one thing out of the way first. She already felt like she knew the answer, but she had to be certain, especially if she was going to traipse around with these dangerous looking men and their guns shadowing her. She straightened her shoulders and stepped closer to Dean.

“Wait. I’ll show you where the room is, but first…first, I have to ask you a question. You were listed in the FBI database as the prime suspect in a serial killing spree in St. Louis. Did you kill those people?”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “How can you know that?”

Chloe ignored him, keeping her eyes trained on Dean’s face, which was staring back at her with the most serious expression she had seen him use. “Did you?” she repeated.

“No, I didn’t.” He looked back at her calmly, but searching his face, she could see hints of weariness and the slightest bit of anger, as if he were tired and frustrated by having to carry the weight of this accusation.

She met his eyes for a moment longer, then nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay? You believe me, just like that?”

She smiled. “Of course I believe you. You’re telling the truth.”


	8. Chapter 8

Dean stood by the door with his shotgun, keeping an eye on the hallway, and on Sam and Chloe as they sifted through documents looking for clues as to where the asylum inmates were buried. He didn’t want the spirit to show up behind their backs, and he also didn’t mind having the chance to study Chloe, whose back was currently facing him as she bent over a steel box, sorting through the papers inside. He had been surprised by her acceptance of his innocence, that she believed him over the FBI, when any sane person would have picked up the phone and had a SWAT team on his ass within minutes. He was still suspicious of her intentions, and he did not think that she had just “happened” to come across them scaling the fence around the asylum. Clearly, she had spent time researching him since their dinner in Lincoln, (and despite knowing what she had found, the fact that she hadn’t just forgot about him made him smirk a bit, stroking his bruised ego) and somehow managed to track them to Pueblo. However, despite his suspicions, he appreciated what he could tell was her honest belief in him. He’d never told Sam, but he hated that there were people out there whose only knowledge of him was the belief that he had killed their loved ones.

The other thing he appreciated was the view Chloe was currently giving him; a form-fitting jacket that ended just above a curvy behind in tight-fitting jeans. He was holding in a leer, but something must have shown in his eyes, because he caught sight of Sam looking his way with an incredulous expression that clearly said, seriously, in the middle of a hunt?

Dean raised his eyebrows and gestured a little, conveying his own message. Dude – curves, jeans, what do you expect?

Sam just rolled his eyes and went back to digging through the papers.

Unaware of the byplay behind her, Chloe straightened up from searching through the box and turned to begin rifling through papers strewn across a desk. She felt eyes on her, and looked up to see Dean watching. He gave her a little half-smile, eyes sparkling, and she smiled back. She was never happier than when shoulder deep in an investigation, and her exhilaration was fueled by both her escape from the scissor-carrying corpse, and the confirmation that Dean was not a serial killer. She had been surprised at the relief she felt at being certain of his innocence, and wondered how she had gotten so…invested…in this guy. She shot another look at him, supposing that it didn’t hurt that he was six feet of gorgeous. But that started her thoughts rolling in an entirely inappropriate direction, and she made an effort to focus on the case at hand.

“So this spirit killed Carl Evans with scissors, and tried to kill me with scissors. Why did it treat Burt Hoffman differently? Why did it, well…” Chloe trailed off.

“Bash the contractor’s head into mush?” Dean grinned at her. “I don’t know, a lot of times spirits will try to kill you in the same way they were killed, sort of a vengeance thing.”

Chloe thought back, picturing the corpse that had attacked her. “The taser didn’t affect it at all.”

“Nah, salt and fire’s pretty much your only defense against spirits. Although, you’re pretty quick with that taser. You use it that much?”

“Only when warding off overeager males with bad pick-up techniques,” she smirked. “Seriously though, if he were killed with scissors…oh gross.”

“What?”

“The corpse had a…hole in its stomach, a big empty hole, like he was missing internal organs. My hand was inside, and…ugh,” she cut herself off, trying to keep from gagging.

Sam looked at her, following her thought process. “Asylum doctors were notorious for experimenting on inmates. They probably cut out his organs, with surgical scissors, causing his death. Now he’s trying to do the same to everyone else.”

Chloe nodded. “So then why did Burt Hoffman get the do-it-yourself lobotomy treatment?”

“Maybe there’s more than one spirit.” Sam bent down and opened another steel box, sorting through the papers inside. “Wait, here we go. Death records.” He lifted the stack of papers out of the box and spread them on the nearby table.

Chloe stepped up beside him, looking at the handwritten notices of death kept by the asylum. “Does it say how they disposed of the bodies?”

“Yep,” Sam replied, flipping through each document. “Cremation, cremation, wait - this one’s blank.” He slid it over to Chloe and continued looking through the remainder of the papers, quickly.

“Joe Wade,” she read from the document. She looked up at Dean. “It says he died from surgical complications.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, cutting out someone’s internal organs would definitely make living complicated. It doesn’t say what they did with the body?”

Chloe shook her head. “No.”

“Damn.”

“There’s one more that has a blank space instead of stating cremation,” Sam announced. He handed the paper to Chloe. “Lucretia Motts. It says she fell down a flight of stairs.”

Chloe frowned. “She just fell down? That doesn’t seem like a reason to come back and murder people.”

“Maybe she didn’t fall,” Dean replied. “Maybe she was pushed, or some orderly got a little handsy in the stairwell and she didn’t take kindly to it, so he bashed her head in. They probably lied about the cause of death for most of the people here. We’re lucky they cremated as many as they did, or we’d have a murdering rampage on our hands.”

Sam looked over at Dean. “I think we’ve found everything we’re going to in this room. We need to go ahead and search the rest of the building.”

“For the bodies?” Chloe asked.

“Yes, there’s really no reason for them to have been moved very far away. They’re probably either still in the building, or they’re buried somewhere on the property.”

Dean nodded in agreement, then led the way out of the room and down the hallway. They checked the remaining rooms on the first floor, which were empty beyond a few sticks of furniture here and there. They used the west stairwell to access the second and third floors, finding that both floors were filled with patient rooms that held overturned cots and various other living implements, but no dead bodies.

Sam sighed as they exited the last patient room on the east side of the third floor. “They must have buried them on the property somewhere. We’re going to have to search the grounds and try to find them somehow.”

Dean groaned. “Man, if they didn’t mark the graves, this is going to be a needle in a haystack.”

“Stop right there!”

All three of them whipped their heads around to see a security guard entering the far hallway from the west stairwell, holding a flashlight.

“Shit, he must’ve heard the gunshot earlier. Run!” Dean pushed Chloe ahead of him, and they both took off after Sam down the east stairwell. They heard the guard’s boots pounding the stairs above them and raced as fast as they could to the bottom of the stairs, then towards the stairwell doorway, but were brought up short by the sudden sound of screaming. Turning, they saw the security guard at the top of the last flight of stairs, being held by a corpse with gray scraggly hair only partially covering the concave shape of the back of its head. The corpse dug its hands into the front of the security guards uniform, then shoved back with all its might, slamming the guards head into the concrete wall. It lifted the guard’s body again, clearly intending to repeat the action, but Dean lifted his shotgun and fired a round of rock salt between its shoulder blades, causing the corpse to shriek and vanish, allowing the guard’s body to slide bonelessly across the stairs. Dean ran back up the stairs and placed his fingers against the guard’s neck, searching for a pulse.

“He’s still alive, but he’s going to have a nasty headache. We need to get out of here.”

“Shouldn’t we call for help?” Chloe asked, searching her pocket for her cell phone.

“We will when we’re out of here. Come on!” Dean snagged Chloe’s arm and pulled her through the doorway, and the three of them jogged back down the hallway to the lobby, then exited the asylum, only to be met with distant shouts as they saw two more security guards running across the field that separated the buildings.

They ran towards the same part of fence they had scaled before, Sam’s long legs allowing him to reach it first, and he scrambled up and over the fence. Chloe suddenly put the brakes on, intending to veer to the right and run back down the fence line to find her gate, but Dean grabbed her arm. “Where are you going?”

“I can’t climb that, I have to find the gate!”

“There’s no time for that, they’re too close. Give me your foot.” And Dean linked his hands together, bracing his legs. Chloe glanced back at the flashlight beams that were coming closer, then turned back and placed her left foot into Dean’s palms, grasping lightly at the fence. With a bellowed “Sam, catch,” he boosted her up, and her hands were able to grasp the top of the fence. Hissing through gritted teeth as the chain links bit into her palms, she swung her legs up and over the fence, then fell into Sam’s waiting arms at the same time as Dean tossed himself over the top, landing on his feet.

Dean threw the Impala keys at Sam, hollering, “We’ll meet you back at the motel,” then followed Chloe to her Jeep. Sam nodded and jumped in the car, turning it around quickly and blazing off into the night. Chloe ran down to her car, also jumping in and turning the key in the ignition, but was startled to see Dean slide into the passenger side, glancing in confusion as the Impala shot by.

“You waitin’ for them to catch up with us?” Dean asked, nodding towards the asylum. “I told Sam we’d meet him at our motel.”

Chloe nodded, put the Jeep in drive and did a quick turn, leaving the security guards behind in the darkness.


	9. Chapter 9

Chloe drove through the night, feeling Dean’s eyes on her, although they hadn’t spoken since she had pulled away from the hospital grounds. The Impala was nowhere in sight; Sam had gotten a good head start. She slowed and changed lanes, then turned left onto the highway that led to the other side of the city, and the motel. She winced as she gripped the steering wheel too tightly, forgetting how sore her hands were from digging into the chain link fence. She felt Dean’s hand on her right one, prying it off the steering wheel and turning it up to examine her palm.

“It’s not too bad; pain will probably be gone by morning.” He stroked the indentations softly with his index finger, causing a shiver to run up her arm. Just that little bit of his skin against hers felt amazing, and she didn’t want it to stop. She suddenly realized she had been watching his hand stroke against hers for some untold seconds, and jerked her eyes back to the road, just in time to stop from crossing the double-lined median. Luckily, there were no cars coming from the opposite direction. She pulled her hand from his and settled it back on the steering wheel, trying to focus on the road in front of her. She slowed, seeing the next turn up ahead, and clicked her turn signal on.

Dean chuckled and leaned back in his seat. “So how did you manage to find us?” he asked, conversationally.

Chloe frowned. “I told you, I saw you scaling the fence.”

“Really. Just dumb luck, huh?”

Chloe shot him a look, but didn’t say anything. He sighed and leaned toward her again, his voice soft and deep.

“Where are you going, Chloe?”

“What do you mean, you said we were meeting Sam at your…” she cut off, face reddening as she realized what he meant. She hadn’t asked for directions to their motel, forgetting that she wasn’t supposed to know where they were staying. He had just sat there, watching her take all the correct streets on her own, knowing she knew where the motel was.

“You want to try again, with a different answer this time?”

She sighed. “Fine. When I read you were wanted for murder, I considered calling the FBI and telling them where you were. But…” she glanced at him, giving him the once over. “You didn’t seem like a serial killer to me, and I didn’t want to turn you in if it wasn’t true. So I decided to find out. I followed the charges on your credit card, all the way to Pueblo. ”

Dean looked at her incredulously. “You knew I might be a serial killer, and you hunted me down to ask me to my face? Don’t you think that was, I don’t know, nuts?

She looked back at him. “Hey, I told you I didn’t think you were. And you’re not, so clearly it was the right thing to do.”

“The right thing to do? Is this how you investigate all your stories, just jump in without thinking it through? And I thought you were a smart chick!” Dean rolled his eyes.

“I am a smart chick!” Chloe snapped, then colored. “I mean – stop calling me that! I’ve been a reporter for a long time, and have lived through a lot worse than tonight!”

Dean frowned, not liking the thought of her being in danger worse than tonight. “You’ve lived through worse than a corpse trying to shove scissors into you? And almost succeeding? What have you been through that was worse than that?”

“Let’s see,” she answered caustically. “There was the time a ghost made me slit my wrists because its remains were stuck in my apartment wall. Then there was the time that a girl who could turn into water tried to shoot me with a nail gun. And then…”

Dean held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, you win. You’re smart, you can take care of yourself, you can probably even leap tall buildings in a single bound. Well, except not fences.” He smirked.

Chloe snorted. “The point is, taking risks is a necessary evil in my line of work. And in yours as well, I’m guessing?” She lifted an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, well, that’s why Sammy and I travel together, to cover each others’ backs. Do you have someone covering yours? Because you have an awful nice…” he trailed off, still smirking when she cut her eyes at him.

“I have friends who…help out on occasion.”

“Any of them good with weapons?”

Chloe smiled, thinking of Clark’s Kryptonian abilities, and Oliver’s bow and arrow. “Some of them are.”

“What about you; you ever handle anything besides that taser?”

“Well, I’ve shot a gun before, but I’m not actually good at it.”

Dean grinned at her. “I’d be happy to give you lessons.”

Chloe laughed. “Right after teaching me to shoot pool, right?”

Dean remembered his offer from a week ago and kept grinning. “Hell no, shooting a gun is top priority, especially if you’re always gonna be getting yourself into risky situations, which you apparently will, big fearless reporter that you are.” They grinned at each other, then he continued. “So how did you know that we salted and burned the policeman’s body? Did you follow us there too?”

Chloe laughed softly, and shook her head, remembering that she had blurted out seeing them take care of Carl Evan’s body after Dean had saved her from the corpse. “Maybe I’m not as smart as I like to think. Yes, I followed you to the cemetery and watched.”

“If you managed to follow me and Sam without either of us noticing, then you must be pretty smart. How close did you get to us in the graveyard?”

“About one hundred feet or so.”

He looked at her disbelievingly. “Damn. I must be losing my touch to let you get that close.”

“Well, you weren’t expecting to be followed. I wasn’t exactly on your radar.”

He lifted an eyebrow and looked at her, smiling sexily. “Trust me, you’ve been on my radar since Lincoln.”

She colored, but smiled back, then pulled into the motel parking lot. The Impala was parked in its usual spot, and the lights were shining through their motel room window. They climbed out of the Jeep and walked towards the motel room, Dean pulling out his key, but when they got to the door, Chloe hung back. She felt a little self conscious about entering that small motel room with these two guys, one that flirted with her, and the other she barely knew.

“Look Dean, I don’t want to intrude on you and Sam. I can…meet you tomorrow, or something.”

“No way, we still have to plan our next step for finding those bodies. You’re a part of this hunt now, you should be in on it.”

“I appreciate that, but you don’t really know me that well, and poor Sam didn’t even get to officially meet me, he probably thinks I’m a crazy stalker or something.”

“Nah, Sam’s alright. In fact, I’ll bet you twenty bucks he’s even cleaned the room in honor of your visit.” Dean grinned at her and took her hand. “C’mon, Chloe, it’ll be fine, I promise.” He opened the door, and pulled her inside.

Chloe glanced around the small room. Both beds were made, with duffel bags set neatly on each one. There was a trash can in the corner, almost overflowing, but no other litter existed in the room. Sam sat at the table looking over his laptop at them, smiling affably. She heard Dean’s voice in her ear.

“You owe me a twenty.”


	10. Chapter 10

“Sammy, Chloe’s afraid you think she’s my stalker. Tell her I’d be okay with that.”

Chloe rolled her eyes, and walked over to Sam, holding her hand out. “I’m sorry for following you. I just had to be sure about Dean; I didn’t want to turn him into the FBI for something he didn’t do.”

Sam stood and shook her hand. “I appreciate that you didn’t just turn him in. How did you know he was wanted by the FBI? You said you accessed their database?”

“Well, I still have some contacts from when I worked for the Daily Planet; they help me out once in a while.” Chloe smiled up at Sam.

“I read some of your articles, they were very interesting. And the ones on your blog are really well done, too. I’m surprised the Daily Planet let you go.”

Sam and Dean both watched as a shadow passed over her face. “Well, you might say that I didn’t see eye-to-eye with the new editor, but that’s water under a very old bridge. How about one of you tell me why the FBI thinks Dean is deceased?”

The brothers looked at each other, then Dean shrugged. “Shapeshifter.”

Chloe raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

Sam took over. “A shapeshifter is a creature that can take the form of people it meets. It can even pick up some of that person’s memories while using their form. This shapeshifter had already murdered someone when we came into town hunting it. Then it took Dean’s form and tried to kill again, but was shot by the police before it could. It died, still looking like Dean.”

Chloe was appalled, and looked at Dean. “I’m so sorry, that must have been terrible.”

Dean nodded. “It was; I didn’t even get to go to my own funeral.”

Sam snorted. “Anyway, we should probably decide how we’re going to find those bodies. I couldn’t find any records of there being a cemetery on the property, and if they were just dumped into unmarked graves, they’ll be impossible to find.”

Chloe tuned the brothers out while they brainstormed about the best way to enter the asylum grounds and find the bodies. She had an idea of how to go about finding the graves, but had to come up with a cover story that Dean and Sam would believe.

She turned back to hear Dean’s final comment. “I’m just saying, dude, wouldn’t it be awesome to borrow a backhoe and dig the whole field up? I’ve always wanted to run one of those big machines.”

“Listen guys, I think I may be able to help with this. There’s a sanitarium in Metropolis called Belle Rive. I know the administrator; I’ve worked with him on some of my stories. He’s very knowledgeable about the history of Belle Rive, and he’s worked in other mental health clinics in the area. He might even have worked in this one before. I’ll call him tomorrow morning and see if he knows anything about its history; he at least might be able to provide some clues before you try bringing in the heavy equipment.” She smiled at Dean, then waited, mentally holding her breath.

Sam nodded at her. “That’d be great; I’ll do some research on the names of the spirits, now that we know them; see if I can find out any more about them.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Dean agreed, and Chloe inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.

\--------------------

Chloe woke up to the sound of her hotel alarm clock buzzing incessantly beside her. She groaned and rolled over, hitting the off button just a little harder than was necessary. Her mind was a little fuzzy, as it usually was before her first cup of coffee, and she laid back, trying to remember why she was so tired, and more importantly, why the muscles in her arms and legs ached.

Then she did. Corpse. Running. Fence. And groaned again. Just another night in the craziness that had become her life.

She remembered how relieved she had been that the brothers had believed her story about calling the Belle Rive administrator, and how she had excused herself due to tiredness and returned to her hotel. She grinned over the memory of Dean’s offer to accompany her back to the hotel; she had smilingly declined and offered to bring them both lunch to their motel after she finished her research.

She rolled out of bed and started the little in-room coffee maker, then showered and dressed. After she had drained her first cup of coffee, she felt clear-headed enough to proceed with her plan for the morning, and flipped open her cell phone, hitting her most-used speed dial number.

“Hello?”

“Good morning, Clark.”

“Hey Chloe, are you back in Metropolis?”

“Actually I’m in Colorado, working on a story.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, but I could really use a favor.”

“Sure, Chloe, name it.”

“I need you to come to Colorado this morning and lend me a hand. Or more accurately, your eyes.”

There was a pause, then she heard the smile in his voice. “Only for you, Chloe.”

Chloe grinned, then gave him the directions to her hotel and hung up. She headed back over to the coffeemaker and poured her second cup of coffee. As she turned around, she heard the knock on her door. She smiled, and hastened to open it.

“Hey Clark, thanks for coming.”

“No problem, Chloe. I’m glad to help; seems like I haven’t seen you much lately.”

“I know, between helping Oliver with research and writing my own stories, I’ve barely had time to sit down. I may have to switch to straight espresso to keep up.” She smiled up at him. “Come on, I’ll explain everything in the car.”

A short time later, Chloe parked her Jeep near the chained gate she had pushed through the previous evening. She had explained to Clark about how the new hospital administration had found documents in the old asylum building indicating that two previous inmates were unaccounted for, and that she suspected they may have been buried in unmarked graves on the property. She didn’t want to tell Clark the whole truth about her reasons for being here, knowing he would object to her methods and reasons for tracking Dean and Sam, out of concern for her. She always appreciated his protectiveness, but sometimes it was necessary to tell Clark a little white lie to keep him from worrying about her.

She leaned against the front of her Jeep and watched as he pulled one of the links apart on the chain, then opened the gate and began superspeeding across the property, unseen, and using his x-ray vision. It was only moments before he was standing in front of her again, grinning.

“Found them.”

“You’re kidding! Where?”

“Near the back of the property line, behind some trees. There’s some other trash back there as well. Here, I’ll show you.” He lifted her up in his arms. “Close your eyes.”

Chloe did, feeling the breeze through her hair, then he was setting her back on her feet. She looked around, memorizing where she was standing in relation to the asylum building. “Where are they buried?”

“Here.” Clark pointed toward a noticeable depression in the ground. “They’re not very far down, maybe three or four feet.”

Chloe nodded. There were rusted cots, molded mattresses, and assorted other trash scattered throughout the bushes. This area had clearly been used as a dumping ground by some uncaring employees. “Alright, let’s head back.”

After being safely deposited beside her car, Chloe gave Clark a hug. “Thanks, Clark, I really appreciate your help.”

“You’re welcome. I’m pretty sure I still owe you for all the research you’ve done for me in the past.”

“No way, we’re card-carrying members of the Mutually Beneficial Society; that means we’re always even.”

Clark smiled. “I guess I better fix the chain on the gate before we go.”

“Actually, can you make it so that it stays a little loose?”

Clark cocked his head to the side, studying her. “Are you planning on returning?”

Chloe gave him her most innocent smile. “No, not right now. But that building is the backdrop for my story, Clark. I might need to take a quick look around at some point to flesh out some details.”

“I don’t know Chloe, it could be dangerous.”

“It’s just an old building, Clark, nothing to be worried about.”

He sighed. “You’ll call me if you get into trouble?”

“I promise.”

“Alright.” He used his heat vision to solder the links back together, being careful to leave extra slack in the chain.

“Thanks, Clark.”

“You’re welcome. Call me when you get back to Metropolis?”

“I will.”

Clark nodded, then supersped away. Chloe smiled, then sighed and climbed back into her Jeep. She had a lunch date.


	11. Chapter 11

“Best. Lunch. Ever.”

“Dude, it was over 10 hours ago. Let it go.”

“I’m just saying. Steak, potatoes, garlic bread.”

“I know.”

“It was all tender, and seasoned to perfection.”

“I ate it too, Dean.”

“Well didn’t you like it?”

“Yes, it was great, and I told Chloe so. Twice. I didn’t think twelve times was necessary.”

“A beautiful blonde brought us lunch, Sammy. A good lunch. The least we can do is be appreciative.”

“I think you crossed a line somewhere between appreciative and slobbering.”

“Whatever. What’s taking her so long?”

“She said she’d meet us by the gate, and it’s just now eleven. I’m sure she’ll be here any minute. You know, it was pretty lucky that the guy she talked to knew someone who had worked here in the past.”

“Yeah, I hope we can actually find the bodies in this dump she told us about.”

“It must be nice to have connections like that.”

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“Did you taste that gooey chocolate cake? It was like a little slice of heaven on earth.”

“Dude – Shut. Up.”

\----------------------

Chloe pulled up behind the Impala and watched as Dean and Sam got out of the car. It had been easy enough to fabricate a story they would believe, one that would allow them to do their jobs with minimum hassle, and never be the wiser. With any luck, the next hour or so would see the spirits gone forever, and no one else would be hurt by angry corpses. At least not these angry corpses.

They greeted her quietly, gathering shovels, a gas can, and salt from the trunk, then walked together to the gate. Chloe made it through the space with no trouble this time, and the brothers were only a slightly tighter squeeze. Walking quickly through the shadows down the fence line, they kept watch for security guards, but none appeared. Finally they made their way into the stand of trees, finding the same mess that Clark had brought Chloe to earlier.

“My contact said that if they were trying to get rid of bodies, they might have done it back here where they dumped a lot of their trash.”

Sam nodded. “Look around for mounds or depressions in the ground – those could indicate the burial site.”

Chloe turned away, pretending to scan the ground with her eyes. She was starting to feel a little guilty about the subterfuge, but there would be no way to explain without bringing Clark into it, and she certainly would not reveal his secret. She was relieved to see Dean’s eyes brush over the depression Clark had shown her.

“Hey Sam, what do you think?”

“Yeah, that could be it. We should just dig a small hole, straight down, see if we find anything.”

Chloe watched as the brothers plied their shovels, leaning back against a tree. The Winchester family certainly hit the gene pool jackpot, she thought. She imagined that both Dean and Sam left sighing girls in their wake wherever they went. She knew Dean was quite aware of how many girls fawned over him, but she wondered if his brother was. Sam seemed more introspective, as if he always had a lot on his mind, was always contemplating some deep thought. He clearly took the lead on researching their hunts; she had seen how protective he was of his laptop and books. But she was sure he was no slouch in the brawn department either; he carried his gun in a way that promised he knew how to use it, and showed a powerful gracefulness when his tall frame slipped through the shadows. She wanted to know what he thought about so much; it seemed sad, and she wished she could protect him from whatever it was.

Her eyes shifted to Dean, and she smiled wryly. She wanted to hug Sam and be his friend, but Dean brought out different feelings entirely. Where Sam had the potential to be dangerous, Dean was danger personified. He stalked through the shadows as if he owned them, and his weapons were just natural extensions of his body. She had a feeling he was a solid tactician – he would almost have to be for them to live through the type of jobs they did. Chloe knew from observation that Sam was the more demonstrative of the brothers, emotionally speaking, but she had gotten a glimpse of the feelings behind Dean’s eyes, and knew that he felt things keenly. His father’s death, the false murder rap, these things had hurt him terribly. She also knew that he loved his brother. He would probably scoff to hear it said out loud, but she had seen how he always kept track of where Sam was, how far away he had gotten, if his back was protected.

She was still watching his face when Dean looked around, checking their surroundings, then glanced up at her. He smirked before digging his shovel back into the ground, and she shook her head. Chloe knew all she had to do was say the word, and he would sleep in her hotel room instead of his that night. In a way, it was a gratifying thought – she wasn’t used to having that kind of male attention. But the idea of being like every other girl he had probably left behind was not a pleasant one. She had never tried to be like other girls, never wanted to be. She didn’t want to be thought of as just one among many.

She was brought out of her reverie by Sam’s voice. “Hey, I think we’ve got something.”

The boys widened the hole they had dug, opening a space around something wrapped in coarse rags. Dean used his shovel to peel the rags away, revealing two skeletons heaped carelessly together. He smiled up at Chloe. “I think we’ve found your friend.”

“I wouldn’t call him a friend, but I’ll bet the woman would love a shot at you,” she smirked back at him. She watched as they shook salt and fuel over the bodies, then Dean offered her a matchbook.

“Would you like to do the honors?”

She grinned. “I would love to.” She struck the match, then dropped it into the hole. It caught on the fuel immediately, and soon a merry blaze was burning, incinerating the remains to ash.

After the flames died out, the brothers quickly shoveled dirt back into the hole, not bothering to be as neat as they usually would in a cemetery. Then they hastened back to the gate, and their vehicles.

\--------------------------

The next morning, Chloe drove into the motel parking lot, noticing the Impala was gone. She frowned, wondering if they would have left without saying goodbye, and walked up to the door. Sam answered her knock, appearing freshly bathed and dressed.

“Hey Chloe, come on in.”

“Thanks, I thought maybe I had missed you guys when I didn’t see the car.”

“Oh, Dean’s picking up breakfast and some newspapers. He’ll be back soon. You want me to call him, have him pick up something for you?”

“No, no, I’m fine, I had coffee at the hotel. I just wanted to say goodbye before I head home, and apologize again for following you.”

Sam smiled at her. “No apologies necessary, Chloe. Here, sit down.” He pulled out a chair at the table, then turned away to the bed where his duffel bag lay open, and began packing clothes inside.

“So do you know where you’re headed next?”

“Not exactly. We have a friend, another hunter, in South Dakota, so we’re going to head in that direction. But we’ll be checking newspapers on the way, looking for another job.”

Chloe watched as Sam paused in his packing and rubbed his forehead with his hand, then began rubbing his temples with both hands. “Sam, are you alright?”

“Yeah…fine. I, uh…headache. Oh, God!” Sam groaned, his tall frame buckling forward until he was on his knees, his head resting on the bed, his hands digging into his scalp.

“Sam!” Chloe jumped out of her chair, kneeling down beside him, and grasped his arm. “Sam, what is it?”

“Dean.” Sam groaned, then collapsed against Chloe, almost toppling her backward. She was able to brace herself against the bed frame, then slid down to a sitting position on the floor, pulling Sam down so she was cradling his head and shoulders against her torso. His hands still clutched at his head, and his body was twisting and turning, radiating pain.

“Okay, Sam, it’s okay, I’ve got you. I’ll call Dean for you.” She checked his pants pockets and found his cell phone. Sam moaned again, and she held him more tightly against herself with her right arm, while she pulled up his cell contact list and dialed Dean with her left.

“What’s up, Sam?”

“Dean, it’s Chloe. Something’s wrong with Sam, you need to get back here!”

“What? What’s going on?”

Before Chloe could answer, Sam started moaning again. “Dean!”

Dean’s voice was strained. “I’m almost there. Just hang on a minute.” Then the line went dead.

Chloe tossed the phone to the floor and began stroking Sam’s hair, trying to brush away his hands. He was grasping so tightly, she was afraid he would dig too far and draw blood. “It’s okay, Sam, I’ve got you. Dean’s on his way, he’s almost here.” She had tears in her eyes, and felt useless, and held him to her as tight as she could, repeating over and over, I’ve got you, Dean’s coming, until finally his body stopped twisting and relaxed, and his hands fell back from his head.

Suddenly the door slammed open, and Dean was crouched in front of them. “Sam! Sammy, talk to me.” He cupped Sam’s face in his hands, tapping lightly against his cheek. “Come on Sam, answer me.”

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Sam groaned.

“Come on, let’s get you up on the bed,” Dean slid an arm underneath Sam’s back, helping to sit him up off of Chloe. She leaned up against his other side, helping Dean maneuver him on to the bed. Dean stood for a few seconds, frowning down at Sam’s closed eyes, then looked up at Chloe, taking in her tearstained face.

“There’s some aspirin in the bathroom, can you grab a couple?”

Chloe nodded and hurried to the bathroom, finding both aspirin and a stack of motel-supplied paper cups. She filled one with water and walked back out to the main room.

“Sammy, you need to sit up a bit and take the aspirin for your headache.”

Sam grunted but did as his brother bid, holding out his hand for the aspirin. Chloe gave it to him, then the water, watching as Dean supported his brother’s shoulders until he was done swallowing. Then she took the cup back and set it on the table.

Dean sat on the bed next to Sam. “What did you see?” he asked quietly.

Sam’s eyes shot open and shifted to Chloe, then looked back at Dean, who shook his head. “It’s too late, man, she knows something’s up. If we don’t tell her now, she’ll probably just follow us to our next stop and figure it all out anyway.” He smiled wryly, but he looked tired.

Chloe frowned. “Look, I can give you some privacy, I’m just…glad that Sam’s okay.” She turned and stepped away from the bed, but Sam’s voice stopped her.

“Wait, Chloe. It’s okay; please stay.”

Chloe turned and looked at both their faces. Sam’s was pale from the pain but his eyes were steady on hers. Dean was watching her too, still looking tired, and resigned. She sat down on the other bed and answered him softly. “Okay.”

Sam looked at Dean once more, then looked back at her.

“Sometimes, I have visions.”


	12. Chapter 12

Chloe sat on the curb outside the motel room, eyes gazing into the distance. There wasn’t much to see; a convenience store across the street and trees beyond that, but her eyes weren’t really focused on the scenery. She was thinking hard about what she had just found out.

She was sure Sam and Dean had skimmed over some parts, but she now knew the salient points of their history. Their mother and Sam’s girlfriend, both killed by the same demon, their father exchanging his life for Dean’s, and Sam having visions that were always related to the murderous demon. Chloe was both amazed and horrified at all the boys had been through during their lives. After filling her in on their history, Sam then shared his most recent vision with Dean and Chloe; a boy his age, dying from a gunshot to the head. It had been unclear to Sam who was holding the gun, he was only sure that it was a man.

Chloe heard the door open behind her, then saw Dean’s boots appear beside her before he sat down. “Sam’s up and around, finishing packing. He wants to get on the road as quickly as possible.”

“His head okay?” Chloe asked softly.

“Yeah, he says the headache has mostly faded, and the aspirin should take care of the rest. I know him, though, he’ll work himself into another headache if we don’t get there fast.”

Chloe nodded, not knowing how to respond. When she had driven to the motel to say goodbye this morning, she had already been trying to ignore the little voice inside telling her not to leave the Winchester brothers behind. She hadn’t known exactly what was fueling the voice, figuring it was just because she considered them friends, and was concerned for their well-being. Now, that voice seemed to be screaming in panic, telling her that if she left them now, she would never see them again, that something very bad would happen. She didn’t know if seeing Sam in pain had affected her that deeply, or if some instinct deep inside knew the future, and was trying to make her listen.

“Chloe, thank you for taking care of Sam.”

Chloe’s throat closed up a bit as she looked into Dean’s face. Seeing Sam twist and turn in pain had been awful, and she had felt useless against it. Her healing power had not kicked in, which had surprised her later when she thought of it. However, knowing now that the visions were a part of Sam, she figured that the pain didn’t register as an injury that could be healed.

“I really didn’t do anything; I wasn’t able to…help him at all. He was in so much pain.” She stopped talking, embarrassed, feeling herself on the verge of tears.

“You called me, and you held him, kept him from hurting himself. You did everything you could to protect him. I owe you for that.”

Chloe shook her head. “You don’t owe me anything. Sam’s my friend, so are you. Friends help each other, they don’t keep track of favors.”

Dean smiled grimly. “We don’t have many of those kind of friends.”

“You do now,” Chloe replied firmly.

Dean grinned at her. “Yeah, I guess we do,” he replied softly, his eyes intent on hers. Chloe was suddenly drawn into his green gaze, not able to focus on anything else, but feeling him closer to her, knowing for one heartstopping moment that he was about to kiss her, and tilted her head back just enough…

The door banged open behind them, and Sam’s voice carried loudly from inside the room. “Dean, are you ready?”

Chloe jolted back at the sudden interruption, and Dean grit his teeth. “I’m gonna kill him.”

Chloe managed a half-smile, and Dean sighed and stood up, offering a hand to pull Chloe up. Then he strode back into the room. “I’ve been waiting on you, little brother.” She watched as they closed the motel door behind them and loaded their bags in the Impala. They took a few moments to exchange cell phone numbers, then Sam smiled down at her. “Thanks for your help today, Chloe.”

“You’re welcome, Sam. Take care of yourself, okay?” She reached up and gave him a hug, feeling his surprise at first, then smiling when he gripped her more tightly. She didn’t imagine he had many opportunities for hugs; Dean certainly wasn’t the touchy-feely type.

“I will; you too.” After one last squeeze, as if thanking her for the hug, he pulled himself away and climbed into the Impala. She turned towards Dean, who had been standing off to the side.

“You’ll be all right, getting back to Kansas?”

Chloe nodded. “I’ll be fine.” She squashed the voice inside telling her that Kansas was the wrong direction. “Call me if you need any help with research…or anything else.”

“We will.” Dean stood for a moment, seeming reluctant to move, then strode over and kissed her, hard and fast. He touched her cheek lightly with his hand, then smiled at her. “I’ll see you, Chloe.” He walked quickly to the driver side of the Impala and slid in, turning the key in the ignition. With a last look at her, he pulled out of the parking lot, and she heard the engine roar down the street out of sight.

She stood listening for a moment, fingertips on her lips, before she responded. “See you, Dean.”

\-----------------------------------

It was quieter than usual in the Impala. No music blaring, no teasing or dirty jokes from Dean. Sam looked over at his brother, whose thoughts were clearly on something else besides the road he was watching. Dean wasn’t usually the brooding type – that was normally Sam’s job, and God knew he had enough to brood about with this new vision and reminder of the yellow-eyed bastard who had killed his mother and girlfriend. But before he had gotten too settled into his thoughts, he had realized how quiet Dean was, how his brother wasn’t making the usual pitch to jog him out of his mood. Sam usually got annoyed with Dean’s efforts in that regard, but he was used to it enough to notice when it was gone.

He was pretty sure he knew the reason behind Dean’s silence. He had been quite taken with Chloe, which surprised Sam a little. Sure, Dean noticed pretty girls everywhere he went, and even went out of his way to spend a little private time with some of them, but he hadn’t given any of them a backwards glance, after. The only girl he knew of that Dean had significant feelings for was Cassie, but even that door had been shut a long time ago, and Sam didn’t think Dean felt any deep regret over her any more.

Of course, Dean had tried to spend a little “private time” with Chloe, at least had offered multiple times in Sam’s hearing, but she had steadfastly refused. Her reluctance to be one of Dean’s conquests was a new experience for his brother, but then Chloe herself was different than most of the girls they encountered in their bar and motel stops across the interstates. She was independent, and extremely confident; she clearly had been making her own life decisions for some time, despite her age. Sam thought that might be one reason for his brother’s interest; Dean had more than his share of self-confidence, and probably admired the same in Chloe. Also, she seemed to have a knack for throwing herself into extreme situations, with very little fear. In their line of work, that was an attractive quality. Sam thought of Sarah, remembering how she had insisted on accompanying them to deal with the haunted painting, how interested she still was in Sam even after knowing what he did for a living…Sam shook his head, not wanting to think about Sarah right now.

He looked at Dean, and decided to test the waters. “Hey, dude.”

Dean grunted.

Sam rolled his eyes. “When we’re done with this job, we could head through Kansas, maybe stop off in Metropolis for a while.”

Dean shot him a look. “We have work to do, Sam.”

“I’m just saying, we’ve never been there, maybe there’s a job in the area that needs our attention.”

Silence. Then, “Maybe so.” Dean reached over to the radio and turned Metallica on, then began drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

Sam smiled to himself, then settled his shoulder more comfortably against the window, and let his thoughts turn inward again.


	13. Chapter 13

Chloe’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, and her heart beat painfully in her chest.

She tried to make herself calm down, not understanding where the feelings of panic and anxiety were coming from. Every time she thought about home, she felt the overwhelming urge to turn her car around and follow Dean and Sam, which she knew was absolutely ridiculous. She thought about her earlier feelings before Sam’s visions. She hadn’t looked forward to saying goodbye, but she chalked that up to her curiosity about the brothers’ lifestyle, an unwillingness to leave behind friends, and her growing interest in Dean himself. It wasn’t until after Sam’s vision in the motel room that the feeling had started to grow, until it turned into outright panic. Chloe had thought it was simply not wanting to leave the brothers behind, but it was more than that. Every time the panic grew, her mind focused on the brothers’ current destination; Laramie, Wyoming.

Sam’s vision had included flashes of a motel, the Laramie Sunset Inn. Apparently, the boy in trouble was going to be shot somewhere on or near the motel grounds. Chloe knew that was where Dean and Sam were headed, that they would probably get a room there and try to work out how to find and save the boy. What she didn’t know was why she felt such a strong need to be there herself.

I need to go home, get back to the usual routine, have a cup of coffee, she thought, willing herself to believe it. But the feeling of anxiety grew again, and bile rose up in her throat, threatening to choke her. Screw it, she thought to herself, and changed lanes so she could turn the Jeep around. Home could wait for a few more days.

\----------------------------------

Dean looked over at Sam, who was slumped on the passenger side, looking out the window. “We should be in Laramie in about an hour or so.”

“Sounds good,” Sam replied.

Dean frowned. Something was bothering him, something about Sam. He looked over at him again. His brother was being his usual non-talkative, moody self; nothing new. Except, non-talkative and moody were usual for their normal treks across the country, not when they were supposed to be racing to head off one of his visions. Usually Sam would be pressing him to go faster, worrying out loud that they wouldn’t make it in time, or just generally giving off waves of anxiety.

“Sammy, you doin’ alright?”

Sam looked at him, a little puzzled. “Yeah, Dean, I’m fine.”

Dean nodded his head, accepting it. Sam was fine, no need to push. Except… “You sure? Because normally you’d be crawling the walls in here, asking every five minutes, ‘are we there yet?’”

Sam frowned. “I guess…I mean, when I have a vision, I always need to get to that person, or whatever I see.”

“Because you want to help them.”

“Yeah, because I need to figure out the vision.”

“Because you want to help them.”

Sam began to get frustrated. “Yeah, I said that already.”

“No, I said that already. I keep saying “want”. You keep saying “need”. Which is it?”

“It’s both, alright? When I have a vision, I want to help the person. And I need to help them, I feel a…a compulsion to get to where the vision is.”

“Do you feel it now, a compulsion?”

Sam thought about it. “No, I mean I want to get there and stop this guy from getting shot, but I don’t feel as anxious about it as usual.”

“Huh. Wonder why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m getting more used to the visions, maybe they’re not affecting me the same way.”

“Maybe.”

“Hey, Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Are we there yet?”

“I’m gonna hurt you, Sammy.”

\---------------------------------------------

The brothers sat on their respective motel beds, Sam searching local online newspapers for any clues to his vision, while Dean cleaned his guns. He set the completed and loaded handgun on the nightstand, then started working on another. They had checked in to the Laramie Sunset Inn almost three hours ago, rolling their eyes in disgust as they entered the dingy room. Dean had been sure this was the worst motel they’d stayed in recently, noticing the layer of dust and grime across the entire room. No wonder there were no other guests here. The innkeeper had snorted when asked about their “family friend” around Sam’s age, who was supposed to be meeting them there.

“Ain’t no one been here in a few days. I’m closing the place up next month, for good. No one cares about a family-run operation anymore, they just want to stay at them big chain hotels.”

Good riddance, Dean thought. This place is a menace to honest travelers. The thought of himself as an honest traveler nearly cracked him up, and he chuckled to himself.

There was a knock at the door. Both boys’ heads looked up, staring at the door, then they looked at each other. They had paid cash for the room, and even if it hadn’t been too late for housekeeping, it was unlikely such a service existed in this motel. No one else knew they were there. Dean nodded for Sam to get the door, then picked up his handgun from the nightstand and held it out of view. Sam checked the peephole in the door, and his head jerked in surprise, causing Dean to stand up from the bed and click the safety off. Sam looked back at him and shook his head, and hissed one word at him. “Vision.”

Dean turned to the side a little, hiding the gun beside his leg as Sam opened the door to show a young man, about Sam’s age, but slightly shorter than Dean, standing there quietly. “Hi, can I help you?”

The young man took in Sam’s face, and his eyes widened. “Uh, yeah, hi. Look, I’m sorry to bother you…but…well, I don’t know how to explain…” His eyes darted around, clearly very nervous.

Sam opened the door wider. “Would you like to come in?”

“Uh…yeah, okay.” He stepped into the room slowly, staring at Sam, while Dean clicked the safety back on his gun and slid it into the waistband at his back.

Sam closed the door and looked back at the visitor. “I’m Sam, this is my brother Dean.”

“I’m Keith. Keith Watson.” His eyes darted to Dean, then back to Sam. “Listen, this is going to sound crazy; but I think you might be in danger.” He looked at Dean again, and cocked his head, as if listening. “Everyone always thinks I’m crazy,” he muttered, more to himself than out loud.

Sam frowned. “Why do you think I’m in danger?”

Keith’s head snapped back to look at Sam, as if he had forgotten about him. “Uh, well, I had a premonition, sort of, and you were here at this motel, and a guy shot you in the head.”

Dean strode forward, eyebrows high in disbelief. “Wait, you had a vision that Sam gets shot?”

Keith jumped back a little, seemingly spooked by Dean’s tone. “Premonition, vision, whatever, yeah, he gets shot, okay?” He turned his head back at Sam, but his eyes continued darting around. “Look, just stay away from people with guns for the rest of the night, okay? I…uh…I’ve got to go.”

Sam put out a hand. “Wait, Keith. Listen, I don’t know if you’ll believe me, but I have visions too. The reason we’re here is because I saw you in my vision, and you were shot.”

That really did seem to spook Keith, who jumped back, eyes wide. “You…you have visions?” His eyes turned inward for a moment, and he muttered again. “They didn’t tell me that.”

Dean frowned. He did not have a good feeling about this guy, who, visions or no visions, seemed a little nuts. “Who didn’t tell you that?”

He watched as Keith’s face became suspicious, staring at him, then at Sam. “No, you’re wrong, you get shot, not me. You have to get shot. That’s the way it works. They’re always right.” His voice had gotten louder with each sentence, until he shouted the last one, then lunged for the door.

“Keith, wait!” Sam tried to grab his arm, but stepped back when Keith pulled a switchblade, holding it in front of him.

“No! You’re not right, I’m not crazy! You get shot, you have to be the one.”

Dean was pissed, and eased his hand behind his back. “Sam, step back, let him go. Just go, dude, we’re not keeping you here.”

“Dean, we can’t just let him –“

“Sam, no, you’re not getting stabbed by some crazy fucker with mental issues; now step back!”

Keith took his eyes off Sam, who obeyed his brother, stepping back out of reach, and screamed at Dean. “I’m not crazy!”

But the moment Sam was out of danger, Dean had pulled his gun and held it pointed at Keith, walking towards him, passing Sam who moved back behind his shoulder, allowing Dean to share the space with Keith instead. “You listen to me, you little bastard, you get the hell out of here now, or I’ll be the one to make the vision come true, and you’ll be the one shot.”

Keith glared at him malevolently, then turned the glare on Sam. “You’re the one, not me.”

Dean took another step closer, gun in Keith’s face, but Keith backed up to the door, opening it, then leaving, slamming it behind him. Dean watched through the peephole as he climbed into a little foreign hatchback, and drove away, then looked back at Sam. “What the hell was that?”

Sam shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense, why would we both see each other being shot?”

“I don’t know, but you sure as hell aren’t getting shot. I didn’t like the look of him, Sam, I don’t think he’s all there.”

“Maybe the visions just get him upset. I shouldn’t have told him so fast about what I saw, I should’ve eased him into it.”

“I don’t think it was just the visions, he acted like someone was talking to him, like he could hear voices. The guy was just nuts, Sam.”

“That could be me one day, Dean.”

Dean swung around, pissed at Sam, now. “No, it couldn’t. Don’t start that crap again.” Sam just stared back at him, with a resigned expression, and Dean took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “Look, this guy is probably your age, and got the visions around the same time you did. That’s the drill right? That’s the way it worked for everyone so far, right? You said Ava had her visions the same amount of time you did.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Alright, then that means Keith has probably had them the same amount of time, too – and look how crazy he is. You’re nothing like that. I’m telling you, there’s something else wrong with him, something else has pushed him over the edge.”

Sam considered, then nodded. “Maybe you’re right.”

Dean lifted an eyebrow. “I’m the oldest, remember? I’m always right.” He watched as Sam rolled his eyes at him, but he could see that some of the tension had gone out of his shoulders, and knew he was relieved. “Listen, Sam, he was pretty riled up when he left; I’m going to go get some extra supplies out of the trunk, just in case he decides to show up with a bigger knife tonight. Why don’t you get on the laptop, see if you can find anything now that we know his name?”

Sam nodded in agreement, and Dean strode out of the room, closing the door behind him. The wide parking lot was still empty in the growing twilight, and the office lights were out; apparently they would be the only people dumb enough to spend the night in this godforsaken motel. Well, that was fine, he’d take advantage and turn the television up as loud as he wanted tonight; no one to notice but Sam, which would be a great fringe benefit. Feeling more chipper at the thought, Dean walked around to the back of the Impala and opened the trunk, then began sorting through their belongings, deciding what to take back into the motel room. He heard a squeal of tires, and turned around to see headlights turning from the road into the parking lot. He expected to see the car head in the direction of the motel office, but the car was driving in a straight line, cutting across marked parking spots, and Dean suddenly realized he was staring at the same little hatchback, and it was making a beeline for him. He dove to the left, but his eyes were still on the little car, so he saw the streak of red cross into the path of the hatchback, saw the hatchback plow into the front of the red Jeep, saw both cars slide across the parking lot, coming to rest about twenty feet away from the Impala. He was on his feet, running, before his brain caught up to whom he had seen in the driver’s seat of the Jeep. Chloe.


	14. Chapter 14

Dean ran to the passenger side of the Jeep and flung open the door.

Chloe was held in the driver’s seat by her seatbelt, head tilted toward Dean, eyes closed. Blood trickled down the side of her head, and she was covered in shards of glass from the broken windshield, along with the blown airbag. Dean climbed into the Jeep, checking her pulse and breathing, and was relieved to find both occurring steadily. He felt in his pocket for his cell phone, intending to call 911, then cursed, remembering he had left it in the motel room with Sam. Oh, shit, Sam.

Dean looked up at the hatchback and saw the driver’s side door open, and no sign of Keith. He looked back at the motel room, seeing that the door was now ajar, and swore again. With a murmured apology to Chloe for leaving her, he climbed back out of the Jeep and ran to the open trunk of the Impala, grabbing one of the guns he knew was loaded, noticing as he did that one of the handguns was missing. He then quickly walked down the side of the Impala, flattening himself against the wall of the motel room, and inched closer to the open door, trying to hear and determine what was going on inside.

\-------------------------------------------

Sam was sitting on the far bed, back against the headboard, knees propped up, skimming through the website he had found. Dean had been right, and Sam felt pity for Keith, and what he had gone through, what he must go through every day. He jumped in surprise when the sound of a terrific crash echoed loudly through the room. He bolted out of the bed, grabbing the gun that Dean had left on the table, and running for the door. It opened before he got there, and he instinctively lifted the gun, leveling it at Keith, who walked through the door, pointing another handgun back at Sam.

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Where’s Dean?” he barked.

“They said I could get to you if he were out of the way. You have to be the one.”

Sam’s mouth tightened, and he noticed the trickle of blood running down the side of Keith’s head, and how he was holding the gun in his left hand, with his right arm hanging unnaturally still down his side. “Keith, what did you do? Did you hit him with your car? We need to call an ambulance.”

“No! We’re not calling anybody.” He took a few steps deeper into the room, and Sam backed up. “We have to wait, until it’s done. You have to be the one. Not me. They didn’t say it was me.”

“Keith, man, listen to me. I know what happened, okay? I know you lost your mom in a fire when you were a baby. I know about all the doctors that your dad made you go to; he shouldn’t have done that, man. I know about the voices, but they’re not real, Keith, I swear. It’s all the medication you’ve been on – that’s what’s causing the voices.”

Keith began to look scared. “How do you know about my mom?”

“I read it on your MySpace page, Keith. I understand. It happened to my mom, too. That’s why we have visions, it has to do with our moms. You and me, we’re alike Keith, and I can help you.”

“No, everybody thinks I’m crazy, but I’m not. They told me I’m not crazy.”

“You’re not crazy, Keith, you’re just tired, and sick. You’ve been hearing the voices for a long time, right? It’s all the doctors, and the treatments and medications, making you hear them. And then you started getting visions. And the voices help you explain the visions to yourself, but the voices aren’t real, Keith. The visions are real, and you can help the people in them, but the voices aren’t real, I promise.”

“No. They’re real, they tell me things, they know I’m not crazy. They give me the premonitions, the visions. They help me.”

Sam’s head was beginning to ache with the pressure of trying to talk Keith down, of wanting to get to Dean. “Keith, please listen to me. I can explain everything to you, I promise, but we need to help Dean, I need to check on him.”

“No, we need to finish this, you need to be the one.” Sam saw his hand tighten on the gun, and everything slowed for a moment, as his brain raced to make a decision on if he should shoot first, when a welcome voice cut through the tension.

“Drop it, Keith, or I will shoot you.” Sam saw Dean appear in the doorway, apparently unhurt, and relief swept through him.

Keith’s eyes widened at hearing Dean behind him, but he didn’t lower his gun. “No, this isn’t right, this isn’t what they said.”

“The voices aren’t right, Keith, they’re not telling you the truth. Put the gun down, and we can talk, we can help you get rid of the voices.” Sam began to lower his gun, trying to get Keith to follow his example. He saw Dean’s face tighten, but ignored it. “Come on, Keith, give me the gun. I can help you, we can stop the voices.”

“No. Don’t want to be without them.” Keith’s voice dropped to a whisper, and his face took on a blankness that Sam didn’t like.

“Keith, stay with me, it’ll be alright.”

“No. It’s not alright. They’re not real, they’re not with me, it’s not alright.” Keith pulled the gun up to the side of his head, and fired, gunshot echoing over Sam’s yelling, as his vision of Keith’s face close-up, with a gun pointed at the side of his head held by a male hand replayed in real time, including the blood splattering across the wall.

Keith’s body fell to the floor, and Dean and Sam both lunged down, but there was nothing that could be done; a gunshot to the head at point-blank range was not fixable.

Sam pounded his fist against the floor. “Damn it, damn it, damn it!” He would have continued beating his knuckles into the tile, but Dean grabbed his shoulders and shook him.

“Stop it, Sam, stop it. You did all you could.”

“It doesn’t make sense, Dean, why couldn’t I stop him?” Sam shouted at his brother.

“He was unstable, Sam, I heard you. Hopped up on all those meds, he didn’t know what was real anymore, they drove him crazy. I’m just glad he didn’t shoot you, first.”

“Damn it, Dean…” Sam shook his head, unable to continue.

“I know, Sam, I know. Listen to me, we’ve gotta clean this up, we gotta figure out what to do, and, oh shit, Chloe!” He hauled Sam to his feet, and pulled him towards the door.

“What? What about Chloe?” Sam began, then stared in disbelief at the sight of the mangled Jeep.

“He was gonna run me down, Sam, and she came out of nowhere and he slammed into her instead. She’s hurt, we’ve got to get her to a hospital.” Dean ran to the Jeep, Sam following, and they both heard her groan and cough.

Dean climbed back in the passenger side. “Chloe, it’s okay, we’re here, we’re gonna call for an ambulance.”

“No. No call.” Chloe’s head lolled around, and her eyes flickered beneath her lids. Dean carefully held her head, and smoothed her hair out of her face, causing a light trickle of glass to fall away.

“You’re hurt, Chloe, you need a doctor. Sam, call 911.”

“No!” With visible effort, Chloe opened her eyes, taking a few seconds to focus on Dean’s face. “No, no doctor. Me an’ doctors – just no.”

Sam shook his head and pulled out his phone. “It’ll be alright, Chloe, we’ll stay with you, but you need an ambulance.”

“No, Sam!” Chloe shouted, startling both boys, then continued to shout. “No, no, no, no!”

“Hey, okay, okay, Chloe, calm down. We’re not calling yet, we’ll check you out first, okay?”

“Dean, she really needs – “ Sam began, but was overridden by his brother’s voice.

“No, Sam, let’s get her comfortable first. We’ve done enough field triage after hunts, we can check her out, see if she really needs a hospital. Besides, we really need to take care of that body before someone shows up.” Dean looked up at Sam, face grim. “Don’t worry, if she needs a hospital, we’ll get her to one, but let’s figure things out first.” He waited for Sam’s nod, then continued. “Call Bobby. See if there’s anyone in the area that he trusts, a hunter, or at least someone with a tow truck who won’t ask questions. We’ll go from there.”

Sam nodded again and turned away to make the call. Dean unbuckled Chloe’s seatbelt, carefully sliding her down to a prone position, more glass falling away. Her eyes had closed while he was talking to Sam, but now she looked up at him, blinking.

“Hey Chloe, don’t worry, I’m just going to check you for broken bones, okay?” She nodded slightly, then winced, closing her eyes. A concussion for sure, he thought. “It’s okay, just rest for a minute, you don’t have to move. I’ll do all the work.” He felt around her scalp first, finding only the one cut where her head must have slammed into the window. That one would have to be stitched. His hands felt down the back of her head, then neck, then he gently reached underneath her, feeling down her spine for anything broken or bleeding, relieved not to find anything. He patted down her arms and legs, moving them carefully, happy that she didn’t respond in pain. He then carefully put pressure with his fingers on different parts of her abdomen, gauging her reactions, trying to determine if she had any internal injuries. Her eyes opened, and she regarded him with a somewhat lopsided smile.

“Better not be…a ploy to get in my pants.”

Dean snorted. Telling jokes, even bad ones, was a good sign. “Please. You barely made it through one little car crash. I need a girl with some staying power.” He grinned down at her. “You’re going to be alright, Chloe. You have a concussion, and you need some stitches, and you’re probably going to be black and blue for days, but you’ll be fine.” He slid back out of the car, just as Sam flipped his phone closed.

“Bobby knows a guy with a tow truck about forty-five minutes away. He said he banished a spirit from the guy’s house years ago, that he’ll be discreet.”

Dean nodded. “Good. We’ll have him tow Chloe’s car away from here, somewhere the police won’t go looking for it, and Bobby can come pick it up later. I’m going to get our stuff out of the room and wipe everything down, clean our prints. We’re paid up for three days, I’ll bet the owner doesn’t even come looking for us until then. Hopefully, he’ll have forgotten what we look like, and this’ll all go down as a guy with a history of mental illness committing suicide.” He looked back towards Chloe. “Do me a favor and make a spot for her in the back of the car. We need to move her, and her stuff, before that tow truck gets here.”

Dean headed back inside and packed up their stuff quickly, tossing it all in the trunk of the Impala. He then wiped down every surface in the room, including the gun Keith had taken, careful to re-add Keith’s fingerprints in the proper position before laying it back on the floor in the exact place it had fallen. He placed the motel keys in Keith’s pocket, then turned the lights out and closed the door, leaving it locked behind him.

He returned to the Impala in time to help Sam maneuver Chloe into the back of the Impala. He sighed, looking at her bloodied face, wishing he had thought to grab some clean washcloths from the room before he locked it. He bent down over Chloe, gently touching her cheek, and she opened her eyes to look up at him.

“Hey – we’re going to have your car towed somewhere safe, and we’ll come back for it, okay? Right now, we’ve got to get away from here, find somewhere to stay for the night.”

“Yeah, okay.” Her voice was quiet, but her eyes were sharper and more focused than before, which he took as a good sign.

“Okay, just stay quiet for a little while; don’t want the tow truck guy getting too good a look at you. Sam and I will be right out here, and as soon as we get rid of him, we’ll head out.”

Chloe gave him a small smile. “Pretty sure I can’t sit up without help – not going anywhere.”

Dean smiled back at her. “Good.” He climbed out of the Impala and closed the door, then walked over to stand next to Sam and wait. “Tell me what you found out about that kid. He was on antidepressants, or something? How did you know?”

“I found his MySpace page pretty easily, he used his full name and address. I didn’t get to read it all – he had pages and pages of postings – but he wrote about how his mom died, and how his dad was paranoid about there being something wrong with him because of it. He must’ve seen dozens of psychologists, and they all prescribed different medications for him, and lots of different treatments; electroshock, injections, everything under the sun. His dad’s been making him take all that stuff for years; if you ask me, he’s pretty much responsible for Keith going crazy, but I think the dad must have snapped when his wife died in that fire.”

“And then the visions kicked in…” Dean supplied.

“Yeah, I think the visions pushed him over the edge, if he wasn’t there already. He just grew up too unstable to be able to handle it.”

They stopped talking when they heard a vehicle in the distance, and a few minutes later the tow truck pulled into the parking lot, and a man with a grizzled face hopped out. “One of you boys Sam?”

Sam stepped forward. “I’m Sam. You must be Hal. Thanks for coming.”

“If you’re friends of Bobby’s, you don’t have to thank me. Looks like I got my work cut out for me.”

Sam spoke with Hal about Chloe’s Jeep, and he agreed to tow it back to his garage the next town over, and keep it locked behind a fence until Bobby or one of the boys came for it. Once Hal had driven away, the Jeep trailing behind, the brothers pushed Keith’s car into a parking spot near the Impala. The front of the hatchback was smashed in pretty good, but the back was fine, and facing the road, so they hoped it wouldn’t be noticed right away. Finally, they were able to slide into the front seat of the Impala, and after checking on Chloe, who appeared to be sleeping normally, they drove away into the night, in the opposite direction of the tow truck.


	15. Chapter 15

They drove almost three hours, stopping just outside Lusk, Wyoming near the South Dakota border. Sam walked into the office of the Covered Wagon Motel and rented a room for the night, returning to help Dean carry in their weapons and supplies, then Chloe.

She had slept most of the way, waking only once or twice with a groan if the Impala hit a pothole, despite Dean’s best efforts at a smooth ride. She woke more thoroughly when they carried her into the motel room, laying her gently on the bed farthest from the door. Sam retrieved some clean washcloths and a cup of water from the bathroom while Dean pulled out the first aid kit that was always kept stocked. They avoided hospitals and doctors whenever possible, for obvious reasons, preferring to rely on each other to tend the injuries sustained on various hunts. The brothers were both adept at removing stray bullets, stitching cuts, and dressing wounds, among many other first aid procedures learned from their father.

\--------------------------------------

They each sat on a different side of her, working together quietly. Sam helped her sip from a cup of water, which tasted cool and wonderful on her tongue, then turned her head toward him on the pillow, and began to bathe her face with a cloth, removing the dried blood that decorated the left side of her face from scalp to throat. Dean removed the remaining shards of glass that were stuck to her skin and clothes, and dressed the small cuts that remained on her arm with antiseptic and gauze. Once Sam had finished cleaning her face, he held her hand while Dean stitched the cut on her head closed. Getting stitches without anesthesia was a new and unpleasant experience; feeling the needle slide through her skin over and over had brought soft grunts and sharp intakes of breath, and the occasional tear, though she struggled to not outright cry, not wanting to embarrass herself in front of the brothers. She did her best to focus on Sam’s voice, murmuring words of encouragement, and Sam’s hand, squeezing hers, along with Dean’s eyes, which never wavered from their focus. She was aware enough to notice that when it was all over, Dean was several shades paler than usual, and he seemed to be a long time washing up in the bathroom, returning to her side just as she slipped off to sleep.

She awoke again some hours later and had to wait for her eyes to adjust to the darkness before being able to determine her surroundings. Her body ached all over, but her mind was significantly clearer than it had been, and she was thankful for that. She preferred to be aware and alert, and hadn’t enjoyed the fuzziness that had constantly tried to push her into unconsciousness. She turned her head to the right, able to see the clock, 4:00 AM, then took in the long, lanky shape in the next bed, which could only be Sam. She turned her head in the other direction and found Dean sleeping while sitting up in a chair, with his legs propped on her bed and his jacket spread over him. She saw the bathroom door behind him, and was immediately aware that some necessities could no longer be overlooked. She gritted her teeth, sliding her aching body toward the edge of the bed, trying not to wake Dean, but her legs were sluggish, and one of her feet dragged against his.

His eyes opened immediately, and searched the room before falling on her. “Hey, where do you think you’re going?” he asked softly, mindful of Sam sleeping nearby.

“Just…bathroom,” she replied through her teeth, trying not to gasp in pain.

Dean nodded and got up out of his chair, then helped her slide to the edge of the bed, and set her feet on the floor. “Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you?”

“Walk, I can walk.” Chloe grabbed hold of his arm and tried to rise alone, but he hooked his arm around her back and helped her. She began shuffling forward, trying to remember how to breathe and walk at the same time, Dean supporting her all the way into the bathroom. She braced herself against the wall with one arm, and fluttered the other at him. “Go, I’m fine, I’ll be fine.”

He looked at her doubtfully, but nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him. Chloe sighed, leaning her head against the wall, then gathered her strength and managed to complete her objective. Once she was leaning against the sink, hands successfully washed and breath not successfully caught, she called for him. “Dean.”

The door opened immediately; he must have been standing right beside it. He began to take hold of her and lead her back to bed, but she shook her head. “Did you…get my bag? I need to change; jeans aren’t comfortable.” Her shirt and jeans were stiff with dried blood and glass dust, and she wanted more than anything to take them off. Actually, what she wanted even more was a bath, but Chloe knew she would drown if she even attempted one at this point.

Dean nodded and helped her sit on the closed toilet. “I’ll get your clothes, what do you want?”

“Sweatpants. T-shirt.”

He left the bathroom and Chloe rested her head in her hands, careful not to disturb her stitches. She assessed the pain she was feeling, and found that while her head, arms, and legs ached, it was her chest that seemed to hurt the worst. She lifted her head as Dean returned, clothes in hand, and looked down at her.

“You know I’m going to have to help you with this.”

Chloe shook her head. “No, I can do it.” Undressing in front of Dean after being bloodied and beaten in a car crash was definitely the last thing on her to-do list, although, granted, she would have said the same about getting stitches with no anesthesia.

Dean sighed, understanding her feelings, but knowing she would never be able to lift her arms enough to exchange shirts. He set the clothes on the bathroom counter and turned to face the bathroom door, closing it. “Look, I’ll keep my back turned while you change, but I need to be here in case you fall.”

Chloe shot a glare at his back, but knew he was right; she was already starting to feel woozy with her exertions. She decided to go for the pants first, and with a last glance at Dean’s back, unzipped her jeans and pushed them off slowly with one hand, the other hand braced against the toilet seat. She took a few breaths, then grabbed the sweatpants from the counter. This was easier; she only had to bend over and lift her feet into the right holes, pulling them almost all the way up before having to brace herself again and finish pulling them on. Her blouse was next, and damn it, she needed more button-up shirts in her wardrobe; it would have been so much easier to remove with buttons. She tried to pull it up over her head as she normally would, but her chest hurt too much to cross her arms over. She tried to rotate one arm out of its sleeve, but the damn thing was too tight, and she pulled at it fretfully, her head beginning to swim, when suddenly Dean was kneeling in front of her, gently pulling the blouse up over her head and arms, then replacing it carefully with the oversized black t-shirt.

She sighed, relieved, enjoying the feel of clean cotton against her skin, but there was one thing left that needed doing, and she knew her arms would never reach, and her head was still swimming enough to make her less prudish. She saw Dean start to rise, but she stopped him, and leaned forward, laying her head against his shoulder. “Dean.”

“Yeah?”

“Bra.”

“What?”

She smiled a bit at his surprised tone, but kept her head in his shoulder. “Please, just take it off. Don’t want to sleep in it.” She felt his head nod against hers, then his hands pulled the back of her shirt up and unclasped the hook. She sat back up, and pulled the straps down her arms under her shirt, removing the entire garment, and sighed in relief, eyes closing.

She felt him pick her up and carry her back to the bed, then the pillow was soft under her head, and blankets were curling around her. She forced her eyes open, looking up at him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Get some rest.”

She closed her eyes obediently, but listened intently as he sat back down in the chair, spreading the jacket back over his chest, and felt the bed dip slightly when his feet came to rest against her leg.

“Sleep, Chloe.”

She sighed, and obeyed.


	16. Chapter 16

Chloe was aware of the light on the other side of her eyelids a few minutes prior to being awake enough to actually open her eyes. When she did, the motel room was much lighter than before, sunshine diffused through the sheer curtains that were pulled across the window to the far right side of the room. Turning her head to contemplate the sunshine also allowed her to find the two brothers whom she was sharing the room with.

Dean was stretched out on his stomach on the bed she had last seen Sam occupy. His face was turned towards her, his eyes closed. She remembered that he had been sleeping in the chair near her bed, and probably hadn’t got much rest through the night, especially not with her four-in-the-morning jaunt. Her gaze drifted up to the table under the window and found Sam sitting at his laptop, a slight frown between his eyes as he stared at the screen. She tilted her head back slightly to see that the clock on the nightstand indicated it was after eleven, then looked back to see that Sam must have noticed her movements and was rising from his chair. He walked around to the far side of her bed, probably so as not to disturb Dean, and sat beside her.

“Hey, Chloe, how are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been hit by a bus. Okay, probably not that bad, more like it was a small car.”

He smiled at her, which she appreciated, knowing that it wasn’t that great of a joke. “Can I get you anything? The coffeemaker’s still hot.”

“God, coffee would be wonderful, but can you help me out of the bed first?”

He nodded, helping her pull the blankets back and sit up at the edge of the bed. Much the same as Dean had the night before, he wrapped an arm around her back, then helped her stand and walk to the bathroom. She was pleased that while her limbs still felt sluggish, they didn’t ache as badly as before, and though her chest was still very sore, she was breathing more comfortably. The small amount of awareness she had been able to spend on her injuries last night had left her concerned with her difficulty breathing while trying to speak or walk, but it looked like that had been temporary. Once Sam left her leaning against the sink and had closed the bathroom door behind him, she lifted her shirt to inspect the damage in the mirror.

She winced at the sight. The majority of her chest was lightly bruised, most likely from the impact of the airbag, but there was a wide diagonal line left from the seatbelt that was a deep blue-black. Not for the first time, she wished her healing ability allowed her to take care of her own injuries, not just the injuries of others. She sighed and finished her routine in the bathroom, snagging a cloth and the motel soap to wash her face, neck, and arms, careful to stay away from the stitches in her head. She wished she could wash her hair, too, but knew that she still wasn’t up to that task. Feeling slightly more presentable, she opened the bathroom door and attempted to return to the bed under her own power, but Sam was beside her in an instant, ignoring her half-hearted protests, and helped her sit up against the pillows he had positioned while she was out of the room. He also handed her a cup of water and a couple painkillers, waiting until she had finished swallowing before taking the cup and turning away.

“How do you like your coffee?” he asked, striding to the dresser that held the coffeemaker.

“With lots of almond syrup, whipped cream, and caramel dripping down the sides,” she replied, smiling.

Sam chuckled. “Lots of sugar and cream, gotcha.” He measured out a liberal amount of both sugar and powdered creamer before pouring coffee into the cup, careful not to overfill so she wouldn’t have to worry about spilling, then brought it over and handed it to her carefully.

She took a sip, and closed her eyes to savor. “Wow, Sam, you must have worked magic to make motel coffee taste this good.”

He smiled at her, pleased, then pulled the chair that Dean had used the night before closer to her bedside and sat down. “So now that you’ve moved around a bit, how are you really feeling? Any sharp pains, dizziness, or double vision?”

“None of that. I’m still sore, especially where the seatbelt got me, but my head feels much better than it did. Just don’t ask me to climb any fences for a while.”

“No worries there. We’re going to stay here for the day and lay low, give you a chance to get some rest before we move again.”

Chloe frowned. “I’m not clear on what exactly happened back in Laramie, but I know we had to get out of there fast. Shouldn’t we keep going, get farther away than…wherever we are now? Where are we, anyway?”

“Lusk, Wyoming, about three hours north of Laramie. Don’t worry, we think we have some time before the police know anything, and we covered our tracks before we left, so hopefully no one will even know we were involved.”

“What exactly were we involved in? Why was that guy trying to run over Dean?”

Sam sighed, and explained to Chloe about Keith’s visions, mental instability, and suicide. Chloe listened intently, trying to make sense of the situation. “Sam, why would you each have a conflicting vision?”

“I don’t know; it doesn’t make sense to me.”

“It’s almost like you were both set up to find each other, like one of you was meant to take out the other.”

Sam nodded. “It does seem like that, but I don’t understand how or why.”

Chloe leaned her head back into the pillows and closed her eyes. There was a piece to the puzzle they were missing, and there was no way to know what it was or how to get it.

“Chloe, why did you follow us to Wyoming?”

Chloe opened her eyes to find Sam staring at her intently, and her cheeks reddened a bit. “I know you guys must think I’m ‘crazy stalker girl’, but I honestly didn’t intend to follow you. I made it part of the way home, but I kept having bad feelings, like something was telling me I needed to go to Laramie. I tried to ignore it, but it kept getting worse, and finally I just turned around.”

“You felt like you needed to come to Laramie?”

“Yes. Weird, huh?”

Sam stared at her for a few minutes, and she could see the wheels turning in his head. Obviously something was on his mind, but he wasn’t ready to share. Finally, he smiled at her.

“Well I’m glad you did, because otherwise Dean might have been killed, although neither of us is happy that you got hurt because of us.”

“It wasn’t your fault. When I saw that car heading towards Dean, there was only one thing I could do to stop it, so that’s what I did. It was my decision, and it’s not a big deal, really.”

“Not a big deal? You took a bullet, in the shape of a car, for my brother. I don’t know how I can repay you for that.”

Chloe shook her head. “I distinctly remember having this conversation with a different Winchester. Friends help friends, no strings attached, no repayment necessary.”

Sam took her hand and looked at her earnestly. “Just the same, we’re going to take care of you, make sure you have whatever you need to get better. And in the future, if you ever need help, need anything at all, you call us and we’ll be there to return the favor.”

Before Chloe could respond, a voice cut in. “Well, I’m thrilled I woke up in time for the group hug portion of this conversation.”

Chloe saw Sam roll his eyes, then turned to see Dean pushing himself up off the bed. He looked over at the clock, then at Sam and Chloe. “No wonder I’m starving, I missed breakfast.”

Sam stood up. “There’s a diner up the street; I’ll go pick us up something to eat.” He looked at Chloe. “Any requests?”

Chloe thought about it. “Something easy. Soup, maybe? Chicken noodle or cream-of-anything. Or a cheese sandwich, if they don’t have soup.”

“I’ll have my usual,” Dean volunteered, giving Sam an overly cheerful grin.

“Right, chicken salad on a croissant with a side of yogurt and fruit,” Sam replied, smirking.

“Dude, don’t even think about it,” Dean warned. Sam just rolled his eyes again and, with a smile at Chloe, stepped out into the sunshine, closing the door behind him.

Chloe was left looking at Dean, who was sitting on the edge of his bed staring back at her. “So, you feeling better this morning?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine, just really sore from the bruising.”

Dean nodded. “The seatbelt got you pretty good.”

Chloe colored, remembering that Dean had gotten an eyeful of her bruises, and everything else under her shirt. I even made him unhook my bra, she thought to herself, embarrassed. Of course, she was well aware that Dean was probably plenty experienced at removing bras, and last night was unlikely to have been an enjoyable experience for him, considering she had been near to collapsing and looking far from her best.

Dean grinned at her, clearly aware of her embarrassment, but just stood up and walked across the room. “Do you need anything before I take a shower?” he asked.

“Actually, yes. Please tell me you got my laptop out of the Jeep.”

“Yeah, it's here.” He grabbed the laptop case and brought it to the bed, waiting until she pulled the cord out, then plugged it in for her.

“Thanks, Dean. For getting my stuff and taking care of me, and well, all of it.”

Dean stood looking down at her for a moment. “You don’t have to thank me, Chloe. After last night, taking care of you is the least I can do.” He grabbed his duffel bag and walked over to the bathroom, turning to look at her before he closed the door. “Besides, there are fringe benefits. White lace is my favorite.” He smirked at her before disappearing behind the closed door.

Chloe blushed, remembering her bra had been made of white lace.


	17. Chapter 17

Chloe lay in the back of the Impala, head propped against pillows that Dean had stolen from the motel room in Lusk.

They had been driving all day, and Chloe was feeling worn out and weary. She was used to being busy, and had found that forced inactivity was not something she enjoyed. The trip had started well enough; the brothers packing the Impala and helping her get settled in the backseat, and the hours had passed pleasantly while they described some of their hunting trips, telling her about the various creatures they had encountered, and how each one could be killed. She listened intently, storing the information both in her mind and in a spreadsheet on her laptop, and enjoyed the banter between the brothers, as Dean was quick to point out each time he had saved Sam’s ass on a particular hunt, and Sam responded by listing all of the times Dean had been captured and tied up; by a wendigo, a family of rednecks, a fellow hunter, and apparently even by townfolk attempting to feed him to a scarecrow.

By mid afternoon, she had fallen into a light sleep, body still worn out from the trauma of the car crash. When she awoke, her chest was aching from her sleeping position; she tried shifting against the pillows and rolling to her side, but that just made it hurt worse. She sighed, frustrated, and turned on to her back, seeing Sam look back at her sympathetically.

“Don’t worry Chloe, we’re almost to Bobby’s; you’ll be much more comfortable there.”

Chloe just nodded, not trusting herself to speak without either snapping at Sam or crying, and neither was acceptable. She took a deep breath and forced herself to think through the story she had begun writing for her blog the day before while stuck in the motel, about the asylum and spirits, leaving out the parts involving Dean and Sam, of course. She was aware of Sam looking back to check on her every now and then, and Dean’s eyes in the rearview mirror that was suspiciously turned towards her instead of the road behind, but she ignored them, ignored the pain in her chest, and ignored the car walls that threatened to close in on her.

Finally, Dean turned the Impala down a dirt road that led to an open gate for a salvage yard, and the car stopped in front of a slightly dilapidated two story house. Dean opened her door, then helped her sit up, and she rested her head against his arm for a moment, letting the pain subside a bit, before sliding out of the car to stand and feel the breeze against her face. She closed her eyes, just enjoying the freedom of being out of the car.

“You want me to carry you up to the house?”

She opened her eyes, and Dean was looking at her calmly, but she could detect a hint of worry in his eyes. “No, I’m good to walk, just lend me an arm, would you?” She wrapped her right arm around his left, and they walked slowly to the house and up the stairs to the porch, where an older man was standing and watching.

“Hey, Bobby. Thanks for letting us crash for a few days.” Dean’s voice was cheerful, and Chloe watched as they shook hands, noticing that they both seemed to be reading each other’s faces, seemingly assuring themselves of the other man’s well-being. She had known from the brothers’ comments that Bobby was a fellow hunter and a friend, but she could tell from watching Bobby’s gaze assess Dean, and then lift to find Sam at the Impala and do the same, that he was concerned about the boys. Dean’s eyes, and the genuine smile he gave Bobby told her that this man was a father figure to them, and she smiled in greeting, surprised to feel relief at knowing there was someone out there who was watching over the Winchesters.

She intended to lift her hand from Dean’s arm and greet Bobby more politely, but climbing the stairs had winded her, and she stumbled, leaning against Dean, short of breath. He shifted instantly, gripping her arm to support her.

“I’ve got you, Chloe. C’mon, let’s get you settled inside.” He led her through the doorway into the living room, helping her sit on the couch. She shook her head when he started to help her lay back.

“No, I want to sit up. Hurts to lie down.” Chloe heard the tone of her voice, and was annoyed with herself for sounding petulant. She took a slow deep breath, and felt the pain finally loosen in her chest. She managed a small smile at Dean, and made herself sound more cheerful. “Thanks, it feels better to sit up.”

Dean looked at her knowingly, and asked Bobby for a cup of water, then turned to the bags that Sam was just setting on the floor, and fished out a couple of painkillers. He handed them to her. “Here, take these. It’s been a while since your last dose.”

Bobby came back into the room with a small glass of water, and held it out to her. Chloe thanked him, taking the glass and swallowing the water with the pills, noticing as she did that he seemed to be watching her intently. She saw Sam shake his head.

“She’s not a demon, Bobby.”

“It pays to be careful, son. The last time you brought a blonde here, she was a demon.” Chloe raised her eyebrows at that.

“We didn’t bring Meg here, she followed us. Chloe is a friend; she saved Dean’s life.” Sam was sounding more outraged on her behalf, and she smiled.

“It’s okay, Sam, I’m not offended.” She held her hand out to Bobby. “I’m Chloe Sullivan. Thank you for helping to take care of my car, I don’t know what we would have done without you finding someone to come and pick it up.” She smiled up at him.

He looked taken aback for just a moment, then shook her hand. “You don’t have to thank me. If these two knuckleheads got you wrapped up in their mess, then you need all the help you can get.”

“Hey!” Dean responded indignantly. “I was minding my own business when that lunatic tried to run me over and put a bullet in Sam.”

“Right, right. I’m sure you hadn’t done a thing to piss the bastard off.”

“Not a damn thing.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I don’t see how he could have been offended by you calling him ‘a crazy fucker with mental issues’.”

“Don’t help me, Sam.”

\---------------------------------------------

Chloe was sitting in the old rocker on the front porch, eyes closed, enjoying the breeze. They had arrived at Bobby’s place two days ago, and she was finally feeling better. The headaches and shortness of breath were gone, the gauze for the small cuts on her arm was no longer needed, and the bruising had lightened considerably. The stitches remained, and would for probably another week, but she had showered and washed her hair anyway, ignoring the small sting.

She had come to really enjoy staying at Bobby’s; it was quiet and peaceful, and Bobby himself had become one of her favorite people. He told her stories about when the boys were younger and constantly into scrapes, causing one or both of the brothers to spout denials, or even better, blush. He talked to her about some of the hunts he had been on, allowing her to add to the spreadsheet she had started to catalogue the different creatures and spirits that hunters dealt with. He allowed her to browse through his books to her heart’s content; and Chloe was astonished at the number in his possession, covering bookshelves, tables, and even in stacks of twenty or more across the floor.

Right now, he was on his way home from retrieving her vehicle. He had arranged to meet the tow truck driver, Hal, halfway, so she expected him to arrive back soon. She was nervous about seeing her Jeep; the crash itself was a little fuzzy in her memory. She remembered seeing the hatchback driving towards Dean, and stepping on the gas to put herself in its path. The rest of her memory was just spots of time, Dean holding her head in the Jeep, Sam carrying her to the Impala, then both boys tending her injuries. She knew it would be in bad shape, but she wasn’t sure how bad.

Sam had found the news article yesterday afternoon on a local Laramie website detailing the discovery of a body at the Laramie Sunset Inn, a local boy with a history of mental problems, dead in an apparent suicide. Sam had been quiet for the rest of the evening, despite Dean trying to joke with him once or twice and turn his attention to other things. When that didn’t work, Dean left Sam alone, but she noticed how he kept Sam in his sight the remainder of the night.

Sam had awakened in a better mood today, thankfully, and both brothers were currently occupied cleaning their extensive weapons collection inside at the kitchen table. Chloe had sat with them for some time, tapping away on her laptop. She had sent emails to both Clark and Oliver, letting them know she was still on the road, working on another article. She had taken investigative jaunts before, so she knew they wouldn’t question her story. She saw no need to worry them with details of the car crash, and didn’t bother mentioning it. Oliver had sent her a response, with a list of names, asking her to see what she could find out, and it felt good to be in research mode again, searching websites and hacking databases, finding whatever she could in order to help the JLA on a future mission. Eventually, she had tired, and knowing Bobby would return soon, she relocated to the porch to rest in her favorite rocker, and wait.

She must have dozed off for a few minutes, because she suddenly woke to the sound of an engine coming up the drive, and she watched as Bobby’s tow truck came in to sight. It pulled past the front porch a little ways before stopping, giving her a full view, and Chloe froze in shock to see the mangled front of her beloved Jeep, the front half seemingly completely out of alignment with the back, as if the entire engine block had been dislocated. The garnet metal across the side was twisted and broken, and one of the front tires was blown. She was suddenly standing beside it, hand on the door, looking at the shattered windshield, glass spread across the seats and floor, and dried blood stains down the inside of the driver’s window, her window. She should have expected this, should have known how bad it would be, how bad it was, but her mind had not allowed her to go there, not wanted to think about anything other than that she had survived; what she had survived hadn’t mattered, until now. Now it all came rushing back, the longest delayed reaction in the world, and she couldn’t control it, couldn’t even temper it, as tears poured down her face and her legs threatened to give way beneath her, and she hung on to the sideview mirror for support until a pair of arms folded around her, and a deep voice spoke softly in her ear. “It’s okay, Chloe, I promise; we’re going to fix it. I’m going to fix it for you.”


	18. Chapter 18

True to his word, Dean began working on Chloe’s car the following morning, pulling off broken metal and assessing what tools and replacement parts needed to be procured.

He gave the list to Bobby, who promised Chloe he would get her the best prices possible for the parts he didn’t already have on hand when she gave him her credit card information and authority to purchase whatever was necessary. Dean had offered one of his cards, but Chloe refused. She knew how he got his credit cards, and she didn’t want to be responsible for using up something that was useful to him and Sam, making it that much sooner he would have to run another scam. She wasn’t personally offended by what he was doing; hacking credit card databases and government files wasn’t exactly the work of a model citizen, either; but she didn’t want to make things more difficult. Besides, she was getting free labor from him, and was more than capable of covering the cost of the parts.

That afternoon, she was sitting at the table, working on her asylum article when Dean stepped into the kitchen.

“Hey, think you can leave that for a little while? I’ve got something to show you.”

“Sure.” Chloe nodded, saved her document, and closed the laptop. “What’s up?”

“C’mon, walk with me.” He led her out of the house, and down a path through the backyard, past a barn, and then crossing through a line of trees into a small clearing. Chloe looked around and saw what appeared to be sandbags with targets painted on them hanging from poles, and fence posts with beer bottles scattered about. She raised an eyebrow.

“Target practice?”

“Yep. For you.” He pulled a small black gun from the waistband of his jeans. “This is a Beretta 92, 9mm. Of the weapons we have, I think this one will fit your hand the best. I’d like to get you a Glock .45 eventually, but…we’ll start with this.” He showed her how to load it and how to use the safety, gave her the rundown on when to point it at the floor and when to aim, and let her get the feel of the new weight in her hand.

“Now for a while, I want you to hold the gun with two hands when you practice, then once you have a reliable, steady shot, you can start practicing with one. Stand with your feet slightly apart, underneath your shoulders, and point the gun at the target, right hand on the trigger, left hand cupping the bottom.” He stood behind her, his arms reaching on either side of hers, placing her hands in the proper position around the gun. “Now look through the sight line, try to line it up so you’re looking straight at the target, and when you’re ready, fire.”

She did what he said, a little nervously, looked at the target through the sight on the gun, took a breath, then fired. The target didn’t even move, and they both laughed.

“Okay, so shooting is not one of my best skills,” she said, pointing the gun at the ground.

Dean chuckled. “That’s okay, a little practice and you’ll get better. No one starts off perfect. Well, except me, but you can’t expect to be that good,” he smirked.

She smiled. “So your dad taught you to shoot?”

“Yep, I was six or seven when my dad first took me out to practice, and I nailed every bottle he set up.” Chloe raised an eyebrow, and he nodded. “I swear; it’s true. My dad didn’t say much, but I could tell he was proud. After that, he took me out shooting whenever he wasn’t on a hunt. Once I was a teenager, he started taking me along, and Sam sometimes, although Sam waited in the car a lot until he got older.”

“You and Sam work together well. I’ve seen how you move – like you always know where the other is.”

“That was part of our training. Protect each other’s backs at all costs.”

“Seems like you do a good job; protecting each other, I mean. You’re both in one piece, and considering the dangerous stuff you go up against, that’s pretty incredible – and lucky.”

“Luck plays a big part, for sure, but I don’t think we would’ve made it this far without Dad’s training. He made sure we knew how to fight, how to take care of our guns, and how to take care of ourselves. We always have to know what to do, when to fight, when to lay low; make sure we keep our reflexes sharp. Sometimes, you have to be able to make the right decision, shoot in the right direction, in a split second, without wasting time trying to overthink it.”

“Don’t overthink it, huh?” Chloe turned back towards the sandbag, lifted her gun, and fired as soon as the target was in her sights, all in one smooth motion. The bullet hit two inches to the right of the painted bullseye, and sand began pouring out.

She smiled triumphantly at Dean. “Guess you’re right.”

Dean grinned back. “I’m always right.”

\-----------------------------------

Shooting practice continued the following afternoon, and she had just managed to shatter her first beer bottle when Sam came walking up the path.

“How’s it going?”

“I think you’re in trouble, Sammy. Chloe gets in a few more practices and you’re gonna slip to third place in the rankings.”

“Third? Who says I’m in second place now?” Sam asked, grinning. He held his hand out to Chloe. “Mind if I borrow that?” She nodded and handed him the gun, stepping back out of the way.

Dean looked at him incredulously, but his eyes were sparkling. “Dude, you’re not challenging me to a duel or something, are you?”

Sam didn’t respond, just checked the clip in the Beretta, then turned and fired five shots in quick succession, each one shattering a different beer bottle. Chloe clapped her hands, laughing, while Dean gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Show off.”

Sam turned back to him, grinning in challenge, and held out the gun. “Your turn.”

Dean shook his head. “Another rule, Chloe; always come prepared.” He pulled his own silver 9mm out of his jeans, and smiling wickedly, hit the remaining four beer bottles with one shot each, then put a hole in the bullseye of each of the three sandbags.

“Hail to the king, baby.”

\---------------------------------------

That evening, Sam, who had been scouring websites and newspapers for days, found a possible job.

“Spirit Lake.”

Dean looked at him quizzically. “You’re kidding, right?”

Sam shook his head. “Nope, that’s really the name of the lake. Six people have drowned in the last eight months, and two of them were found wearing life jackets. The local authorities are saying that they all look like either accidents or suicides, but that many people all of a sudden? I’m thinking some kind of water spirit.”

“Sounds reasonable. Guess it’s time to get back in the saddle.” Dean looked over at Chloe. “It’s going to take some time to finish the Jeep, especially since we’re still waiting on parts. Are you okay if we take a few jobs in the meantime?”

Chloe nodded and smiled. “Of course. If something’s out there drowning innocent people, it needs to be stopped. That’s more important than my car.” She looked down at the table, wondering what she should do. She could always rent a car and drive back to Metropolis, or just call Clark and have him come get her. Of course, then she’d have to explain why she couldn’t use her Jeep, and that wasn’t a conversation she particularly wanted to have. She suspected that Bobby would be willing to let her continue staying with him and wait on the boys to return; he had hinted as much in an earlier conversation, offering his home to her anytime she needed it. Chloe was torn – she knew there was really no reason to stay, and every reason to return home, but she had become interested in the hunting life and the opportunity to write about it, fond of Bobby and his books, and more than fond of the Winchester brothers. She wasn’t ready to let go of any of it.

Lost in thought, and not realizing she was frowning at the table, she didn’t see Dean study her face for a moment, then look up at Sam, who gave him a half-smile and nodded.

“You want to write a story about a water spirit for that blog of yours?”

Chloe jerked her head up and looked at Dean. “What do you mean?”

“You could come along with Sammy and me; six deaths and a water spirit would probably make a great article.”

Chloe grinned a little. “You’re right, it probably would.” She looked from Dean to Sam. “I would love to go, but I don’t want to get in the way.”

“You won’t be in the way, Chloe. It would be great to have someone to share the research duties with,” Sam replied, shooting Dean a teasing look.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah and it’d be great for Sam to have another girl to talk to.”

“Funny, dude.”


	19. Chapter 19

“Tell me about water spirits,” Chloe said, creating a new category in her spreadsheet. She sat cross-legged in the back seat, her computer in her lap. They were on their way to Spirit Lake, Iowa, and on this drive there was no weariness or frustration on Chloe’s part, just excitement at the thrill of a new experience and determination to get to the bottom of the story.

"There are different types; a water wraith will take the form of an old woman, a rusalka will look like a young woman. Yodyanoy will take the form of an old man, while a nix will look like a young one. And then of course, there are kelpies, which look like white horses.” Sam spoke over his shoulder while flipping through what she knew they always referred to as “Dad’s journal”, even though they were the ones who updated it now. She would have liked to read through it, but they hadn’t offered, and she wasn’t going to pry; she knew it was private, and precious to both boys.

“Or it could be a plain old garden variety ghost that happened to be killed in or near the lake, just looking for revenge.” Dean interjected.

“Right, well we’ll have to interview the family members of the deceased, see if there are any connections between the victims, or if any of them saw the actual drowning.”

“Interview them? How do you get them to talk to you? You’re not reporters.”

Dean grinned at her in the rearview mirror. “They don’t know that.”

\-----------------------------------

They interviewed the first family together, Dean and Sam taking the lead, passing themselves off as reporters from the Omaha World-Herald. Chloe asked a few questions, but mostly listened, marveling at how good the brothers were at using lies to draw information out of the family. Sam especially seemed able to put them at ease, gazing at the mother with liquid brown eyes, agreeing with how beautiful the 18 year old daughter was when the glossy picture slid into his hand. Dean was more matter-of-fact, but that worked too, as the father seemed to respond more to his questions, while the mother had found a sympathetic shoulder in Sam.

“She was a good swimmer, she always medaled in the school swim meets,” the mother said mournfully to Sam.

“We’ve picnicked beside the lake lots of times before, no reason to think a nighttime bonfire wouldn’t be safe,” the father told Dean.

“Smart…top of her class…” the mother was almost sobbing.

“…police thought maybe the boyfriend, but he went searching for her, and went missing too. Nice, polite boy…Amy thought the world of him, I don’t think he had anything to do with it.”

The trio finally extracted themselves from the family, but not before the mother had pressed a bag of homemade cookies into Sam’s hands, sighing about chocolate chip being her daughter’s favorite. Dean was especially appreciative, and had gotten through half the bag in the car before Sam realized and snatched it away. “Dude, she gave them to me.”

“Hey, we’re a team. Share and share alike, I always say,” Dean replied, mouth full.

“Whatever. Chloe and I get the rest. Next family?”

“Next family.”

They spoke with the remainder of the families, hearing the same story over and over, but with no real connection to tie them all together, the boyfriend and girlfriend being the only ones whose families knew each other. The ages of the victims ranged from 18 to 30, three men and three women, all fair to expert swimmers, even the two women who had been wearing life jackets. There were only two facts that seemed the same in each disappearance; all of the victims had been attractive, men and women alike, and all had disappeared from the western shore, vanishing somewhere in the trees that surrounded a large cove area, often used by boaters and hikers for swimming and picnicking, before being found washed up on shore.

They didn’t finish interviewing the families until late afternoon, when Dean stopped at a burger joint drive through to pick up dinner, then found a motel a few miles west of the lake. The Shamrock Inn was extremely noticeable from the road, what with the huge neon four leaf clover that decorated the sharply slanted roof over the office, with tube lighting proclaiming its vacancy.

After parking the car, Dean turned and looked over his shoulder at Chloe. “So, a room for us, and one for Sam?” he asked, grinning.

Chloe did her best to give him a withering look, but couldn’t keep from smiling back. “Nice offer, Romeo, but I’ll get my own room. I wouldn’t want the two of you to get lonely without each other.” From the other side of the car, Sam snorted.

She got out of the car and began walking towards the office, Dean beside her.

“You know, I can take care of both rooms,” he said.

“I know,” she replied, without stopping.

“Seriously Chloe, you wouldn’t let me take care of the parts for your car, I can pay for your room. Or, you know, Jerry Cantrell can.” He grinned, waving a credit card in the air.

She stopped and turned before reaching the glass door to the motel office. “I appreciate it Dean, but it’s not a problem to pay for my room. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“What, are you squeamish about the scamming? ‘Cause I’m thinking hacking a credit card company’s files to follow someone isn’t exactly legal.” He meant it jokingly, but realized he’d made a mistake when she looked at him in astonishment and hurt.

“Did I say I had a problem with the scamming? Because, trust me, if I had a problem with it, I wouldn’t be here now. And I don’t need you telling me what’s legal and what isn’t.” She turned away and stalked to the office door.

“Chloe, wait, I didn’t mean – “, but she was already inside the office, and there was nothing for him to do but walk in and wait impatiently, listening to her charm the man behind the desk, and watch as she walked out with her key, refusing to acknowledge him.

By the time he returned to the Impala, she was nowhere in sight, but Sam was frowning at him. “What did you do?”

Dean pulled the car away from the office in order to relocate it in front of their room. “What? I didn’t do anything. Why, what did she say I did?”

“She didn’t. She just said she was in room twelve, then grabbed her stuff and walked away. She was pissed, Dean, you must have done something.”

“I just told her I could pay for the room, but she wouldn’t let me.”

“And?”

Dean sighed, rolling his eyes. “And, I may have said that following us by looking up our credit card charges wasn’t any more legal than running credit card scams. Or something like that.”

Sam looked at him in disbelief. “You came down on her for doing something illegal? You?”

“I didn’t mean it that way, I was just trying to get her to let me pay for the damn room!”

“Have you not noticed that she’s capable of making her own decisions? It seems like she’s been taking care of herself for a while now.”

“Yeah, and she ends up with stitches and a busted up car to show for it. I owe her, Sam, she shouldn’t have to take care of herself if I can help.”

Sam stared at him for a moment, and his mouth twitched at the corners. “You really do like her, don’t you?”

“What? No. C’mon, Sam, don’t start that. I have a debt to repay, that’s all.”

“Maybe she doesn’t see it that way.”

“Maybe she’s too stubborn for her own good. Now get out of the car before people start staring.”

\------------------------------------------

“Okay, I can’t find any indication that anyone died in that area prior to these six, so I don’t think it’s a regular ghost. And we can probably rule out a kelpie, since they tend to eat parts of their victims, and all of the bodies were found intact,” Sam said, one hand on the journal, the other on his laptop keyboard. He was sitting at the table in his and Dean’s motel room, Chloe sitting opposite him, typing away on her own laptop. “It could be a yodyanoy, although they tend to live in bigger bodies of water, in sunken ships or whirlpools, and I can’t find a reference to either in this lake. I think it might be a water wraith.”

“If it’s a wraith, we can kill it with iron rounds,” Dean responded from his perch on the end of the bed.

Chloe looked up at Sam. “Why not one of the other two; a rusalka or a nix?”

“Rusalkas only go after men, and a nix will only drown women. They’re both looking for companionship; it’s said they can keep their victims’ souls beneath the sea with them, never to be released unless the spirit is killed. We have three male and three female victims, and a wraith will drown both men and women, just for fun.”

“Could be one of each,” Dean pointed out.

“Yeah, although it’s unusual; water spirits don’t tend to share smaller bodies of water well, unless they are mated.”

Chloe shook her head. “Wait, mated, as in, they’re a couple?”

“Yeah, a lot of creatures take mates, like vampires or werewolves. Ghosts don’t, but water spirits are kind of different, they aren’t just fueled by vengeance, they have more cognitive powers and try to make themselves happy,” Sam responded.

“So you can kill a wraith with iron bullets; do they work on rusalka and nix too?”

“You can incapacitate a rusalka, but it’ll heal fast. The only way to kill one is for it to be out of the water long enough for her hair to dry.”

Chloe’s eyebrows raised. “Her hair has to dry? You’re kidding, right?”

Dean answered. “Nope, she’s tied to the water, and if she dries out, she turns into fish food.”

Chloe nodded in response, but didn’t look in his direction. “And what about a nix, is it the same?”

Dean gritted his teeth. Sam had gone over to ask her to join them for dinner and to discuss their next steps, which she had apparently been fine with, as she returned with him almost immediately. But she had been cool to him the entire time; never rude, mostly just acknowledging his presence and moving on. He was contemplating trying to stare a hole into the side of her head until she looked at him when he finally caught up to what Sam was reading aloud from a website.

“…don’t have to stay wet, and they’re completely impervious to bullets. The only way you can kill a nix is to say his name out loud in its presence.”

“How the hell would we know his name? What, are we hunting Rumpelstiltskin now?” He was looking at Sam, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Chloe’s lips turn up in a half-smile, though her eyes were still on her laptop, and he grinned, pleased with himself.

“Well, we probably won’t have to worry about it anyway, I still think a wraith is the most likely option,” Sam replied.

“Sounds good to me. We’ll leave at full dark, and go wraith hunting.”


	20. Chapter 20

Chloe sat at the table in the brothers’ motel room for a little while longer, closing her documents, then shutting down her laptop.

She could feel Dean’s eyes burning holes into the side of her head, trying to get her to look at him. She also knew that Sam was continually bobbing his head up from his own laptop to glance at Dean, then her, then back down at the screen. She closed the top of her computer, then laughed when it caught Sam in mid-bobble, and his eyes widened and shot away from her.

“I swear, the two of you are going to drive me insane,” she said, good-naturedly.

“I know you’re mad at Dean, Chloe, and I know he can be an idiot sometimes,” and here Sam ignored Dean’s indignant hey, “but you know we really just want to make sure that you’re ok after everything you went through because of us, saving Dean and all.”

Chloe sighed. “You two are the sweetest, most hard-headed men I think I’ve ever come across. I have told you both, you don’t owe me anything. Everything I’ve done has been my decision. I want to be here. I want to watch you take out a water spirit before it kills somebody else. I can afford to pay for a motel room, especially a cheap, crappy one like this. You don’t have to make anything up to me; in fact Dean’s already fixing my car for free. That’s enough.”

“I don’t think Sam and I have cornered the market on being hard-headed,” Dean replied.

Chloe grinned at him. “Are you trying to imply I’m stubborn?” she asked innocently.

“No, I was pretty much just saying it outright,” he smirked.

She laughed. “I’ll try to keep my stubbornness to a minimum if you’ll do the same with your pig-headedness.”

“I thought it was hard-headedness?”

“Yeah, that too.”

\-------------------------------------

They left the motel just after dark, and drove to the lake, parking in the closest lot to the cove, about a quarter mile hike to the lake shore. Chloe had the Beretta stuck in the back of her jeans. She hadn’t wanted to carry it, knowing she wasn’t experienced enough yet, and not wanting to endanger the brothers, but Dean had insisted. “Just keep it put up unless you have to use it, but if the wraith comes after you, aim, sight, and shoot, just like we practiced.”

They trailed through the trees, looking for any sign of the wraith, Sam in the lead. He stopped suddenly. “Do you hear that?”

Chloe stopped and listened, and suddenly she could hear it, the most beautiful song she had ever heard, and she couldn’t make out if the tones she was hearing were coming from a man’s voice or the sound of a bow drawing across violin strings, but she wanted, no she needed to find out.

To her left, she could hear Dean’s voice responding to Sam. “I hear it; we have to find it.”

She heard Sam agree, and all three of them began walking through the trees, searching for the source of the music floating on the breeze. What none of them noticed was that Chloe was heading in a different direction than Sam and Dean.

\-------------------------------------------

They saw her through the trees, draped in a barely there sheath, voice raised in song. She was framed by an oak tree, and her hair was silver, with a tint of green, like a ring that was slightly tarnished, and the long locks were wet, dripping water down her back and arms. They stopped and stared, unable to look away from the graceful throat that arched with the notes that had drawn them to her. She stopped singing and looked at them, as if she had known they were there, known they were coming all along.

“Come to me.” Her voice eased through Dean’s mind, and he walked forward slowly, Sam beside him. “You are the best so far, and he has had nothing so fine. I will win, and he will regret the game.” Her voice was silk through the wind, floating with pleasurable purpose, sinking into his mind, and all he wanted was to hear it again. “Come. We will walk into the water together, and you will keep company with me forever.” She took a step back and he and Sam both willingly took another step forward, ready to follow her wherever she went. Her eyes were pale, with no pupils, but still seemed to beckon him forward.

“I am pleased,” and Dean was happy beyond measure that they had pleased her. “I will have two to his one, and he will burn in jealousy.”

The sound of her voice was suspending most of the functions in Dean’s mind, as if wrapping it in wool, making it too hazy, too sluggish to be worried, only wanting to follow where she led. But there was some underlying part, some wheel that was still churning, trying to push up through the haze and tell him that this was wrong, that somebody needed him. That part of him fought to be understood, fought to think. Who needs me? The answer to that question was usually Sam, but Sam was right here, with him, safe, so he began to let go again, allow himself to drift back into the haze, but there it was again. Needed. He was needed, but by who? She needs me. His eyes drifted over the woman before him, her silvery hair shining in the moonlight, but that wasn’t right, silver wasn’t the right she. Not silver, but gold. Golden blonde hair. An image of Chloe rose up before him, and the haze cleared immediately, leaving his mind sharp and screaming for action; he pulled his gun out of his waistband and shot three times, hitting the rusalka once in the shoulder and twice in the chest.

She fell to the ground with a shriek, eyes closed, breathing heavily. At the same time, Sam shook his head, eyes snapping to focus, and saw Dean run forward and grab the rusalka, then drag her towards the oak tree. “Sammy, wake up and get the rope! We gotta tie her to the tree before she comes to.”

Sam obeyed his brother’s words, grabbing the rope, then helping to loop it around the rusalka and the tree, wrapping it round and round, then tying it off securely. Dean cut a length from the remaining rope, tying one end to one of her wrists, then circling it around the back of the tree, and tying it to the other. Just as they were finishing securing the knots she groaned, and they backed away, watching as her strange pale eyes changed from pain-tinged to seducing.

“Let me go,” she said, and her voice whispered through his head again, but he held firm to the image of Chloe, and the sound dissipated like smoke in a breeze. He looked over at Sam and saw his eyes start to lose focus. “Oh, for the love of God, Sammy, wake up!” He punched his brother in the arm, hard.

“Ow! What the fuck, Dean?” Sam turned to him, pissed, but his eyes were sharp and focused again.

“Every time she opens her mouth, her voice tries to drag us back under. You gotta stay focused, Chloe needs us.”

“What? Where is Chloe?” Sam swung his head around, looking for her.

“I think a nix has got her, and we need to find her fast, but we gotta have its name.” He looked back at the rusalka. “What’s your boyfriend’s name? Or should I say ex-boyfriend? Sounds like you and he had a little falling out.”

She looked at him, and her smile was almost as seductive as her voice. “He wanted a game, to see who could have the most, and the most beautiful.”

Dean looked over at his brother, and was relieved to see that his eyes were still focused and aware. “A game, huh? You not his type, any more?” He watched as her eyes narrowed, glaring, and knew he had hit a sore spot. “Give us his name, and we’ll be happy to take care of him for you.”

“Let me go, and I will tell you.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, I don’t think so. We’re not letting you go unless you tell us the name. If you don’t want to tell us, fine, we’ll just leave you here to dry your hair in the breeze.”

“You will let me go if I tell you?”

“Scout’s honor,” and Dean held up two fingers in mock salute.

She stayed silent for a long moment, and Dean was getting impatient. He knew they hadn’t been separated from Chloe very long, but he didn’t know how long it would take for the nix to coax Chloe into the lake. “Not gonna talk? Fine. Sam, go get the hair dryer from the car.”

“Wait.” A sigh blew softly through Dean’s mind, and the rusalka dipped her shoulders in defeat. “Halewijn.” Her voice curled around the name like a lover’s caress, and Dean knew she was telling the truth. He nodded and turned away.

“You swore to let me go.”

“Sorry, sweetheart, I was never a Boy Scout. Come on, Sam.” He began running back in the direction they had come from, ignoring her cries of anger, Sam at his back.

\--------------------------------------

Chloe walked through the trees, following the most beautiful singing voice she had ever heard, a male singing voice, she was sure of it, and she wanted to find the man who could make those sounds. She stepped into a clearing and stopped when she finally saw him, only a short distance away, looking at her as if he knew she was coming, and he smiled.

“Come to me,” and he held out his hand to her, the tones in his voice swirling around her like a slow, sensuous breeze, raising goosebumps on her skin, and she wanted to feel more. She stepped forward, walking slowly, looking at his gray eyes, bare chest, and pants that had darkened hems, as if he had just stepped through water. Water. Suddenly, she was able to see not just him, but the shoreline a few hundred feet in the distance, and she knew something was wrong, though she couldn’t quite make out what, but her steps faltered and stopped, and she knew instinctively that she did not want to go near the water.

He laughed, and it was the most musical laugh; it slid over her skin like a symphony of fingertips, and she shuddered. “You are the first to challenge the game, I am so glad you came to play.” His voice was rich and deep, and she could almost see it wrapping around her head, building a fog that settled across her mind. “Come to me, little one. Come to me.”

Chloe walked forward again, feeling the need to go to him, to please him, to get as close to his voice as possible.

“Hey, Halewijn, why don’t you leave the pretty girl alone.”

The nix turned, looking surprised, then grinned at Dean. “You are not the one who must speak it.”

Dean strode forward angrily, but the nix’s hand shot out, wrapping tightly around Chloe’s wrist. “Come closer, and I will break it.”

He stopped short, frustrated. “Sam, I thought hearing his name would kill him.”

Sam shook his head, tense. “That’s what the legend said, but…he only kills women, Dean, I’ll bet a woman has to say it.”

They both stared at Chloe, who was swaying slightly, seemingly unaware of either them or of her wrist nearly being crushed.

“Let her go, you son of a bitch.”

The nix just looked at him, amused. “She is mine, now, but if you would like to win her back, you may play the game. Your words against mine, your voice against mine.” The nix’s voice became deep and lilting, and though it didn’t affect him, Dean could see Chloe shiver, enthralled.

He had no clue how to reach her, and just began talking. “Listen to me Chloe, I need you to wake up, snap out of it, or you’re going to be stuck in the bottom of the lake with that bastard forever.” She gave no visible response, and he ground his teeth, seeing the nix grin arrogantly as it spoke. “You will not win.”

Dean saw Chloe shiver again in response to the voice. “Shut up! Chloe, you’re supposed to be a smart chick, now use your brain and dig your way out of that fog and say his name. Say Halewijn. Just one word, just say that one word for me.” He thought he saw her almost imperceptibly shake her head, and he knew he was getting to her, knew she was hearing him.

“Halewijn. Say it, Chloe, just say it, for me. Say it for me.”

Chloe’s head turned slightly in his direction, and he could see the slightest of frowns creasing her forehead. The nix must have sensed he was losing her, because he took a step backward towards the shore, pulling Chloe along, and opened his mouth, but Dean shouted over him, panicking.

“God DAMN it, Chloe, say the fucking name!”

And suddenly her head snapped towards him, eyes focused, and she screamed. “Halewijn!”

The nix threw back his head and screamed, and his body started to tear apart into dark green threads of seaweed, including the hand that held Chloe’s wrist, and she started screaming in earnest as it wound up her arm, pulling her down into the dirt as the remainder of his body became a writhing mass of green. Dean and Sam ran forward, pulling out knives, and started cutting away at the thick strands, stopping them from slithering around her chest and neck, until finally, the mass stopped moving and withered all at once to brown. Chloe scrambled back across the ground with her hands, and tore the last dead strands that clung to her clothes away.

She looked up at Dean with relief in her eyes, breathing heavily. “If you did owe me anything, you don’t now. And don’t call me a chick.”


	21. Chapter 21

It had taken until nearly dawn for the rusalka’s hair to dry completely.

The three of them had curled up on the ground, backs against trees, waiting. Dean had finally had to gag the water spirit, tiring of her continual efforts to enthrall himself and Sam. He had suggested that Sam take Chloe back to the motel while he waited to ensure the rusalka didn’t free herself, but Chloe had insisted on staying, saying she wanted to witness the water spirit’s transformation, without being endangered by it this time, so she would have all the details for her story. Finally, just as the sky was beginning to lighten, the rusalka sighed, and they all looked up and watched as her body separated into the thick green strands, which writhed impotently between the tree and the tightly tied ropes, before finally withering to brown.

After removing the rope and other traces of their presence, they returned to the motel, worn out, and paid for another day so they could crash before returning to Bobby’s. The brothers took the opportunity to sleep the day away, but Chloe woke up after a few hours, tired, but wanting to write her story while it was still vivid in her memory. She had been working on it all afternoon when she heard a knock on her door, and opened it to find Sam.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty, come in.” She smiled, holding the door open, and he chuckled and stepped inside.

“Hey, yourself. It’ll be getting dark soon; you about ready to head to Bobby’s?”

“I’m all packed, just have to shut down my laptop and I’ll be good to go,” she replied walking to her chair.

“We’ll probably stop on the way to grab a bite to eat. I think even Dean is tired of vending machine food.” He frowned, looking at her. “Did you get some rest? You look tired.”

“Don’t worry, I slept through the morning, but I wanted to get this article finished, too. I’ll probably take a nap in the car on the way back.”

Sam nodded. “How’s your wrist?”

Chloe lifted the arm that the nix had held so tightly, displaying a dark band of bruises encircling her wrist like a bracelet. “It looks worse than it is, it doesn’t really hurt.”

Sam looked at her knowingly. “Would you tell me if it did?”

Chloe just smiled. “What about you? No side effects from the mind whammy last night?”

Sam shook his head. “No, once she was out of my head, she stayed gone. Although I think I have a bruise on my arm where Dean punched me to get my attention.” He smiled, then sighed. “I gotta say, I’m tired of spirits and whatever else rooting around inside my head.”

Chloe smiled sympathetically, laying a hand on his arm. “I know how sick you are of the visions. It can’t help to have random creatures playing mind games, trying to reshuffle the deck every so often.”

“No, it really doesn’t.” He looked tired again, despite his day’s rest, and she knew that he spent a lot time dwelling on the visions, and the demon, and worrying about what both might do to him, or worse, what they might make him do to others.

It was extremely distressing to her, the amount of hardship, and hard knocks, the brothers had dealt with over their short lives. Something had targeted their family, was still targeting them, and they just kept fighting, day after day, internalizing the pain, suppressing it, moving on. But she knew they grew weary of it, Sam especially; his eyes often looking exhausted, as if he was constantly trying to hold too many thoughts behind them.

Chloe looked into his face, and gripped his arm a little tighter. “Hey. Don’t worry, we’re going to figure all this out. You’ve got an ace reporter on the job now, remember? I can track down information blindfolded, and with one hand tied behind my back.” She grinned up at him, willing him to believe her.

He smiled back, his eyes more normal, and helped her carry her things to the car, but she knew he was still hurting, and she resolved to do whatever was in her power to help him.

\-------------------------------------

Chloe sighed, waking in the back seat of the Impala to the sound of a car door slamming. She sat up, hearing static through the radio, and watched as Dean ran to a small diner in front of the car, pulling his gun out as he ran, Sam nowhere in sight.

“Shit.” Chloe jumped out of the car and ran up to the diner. She opened the door, and then raised her hands in mock surrender when Dean swung towards her, gun pointed. Seeing it was just Chloe, he turned back, and continued down the diner, checking the bodies that were crumpled around the tables and on the floor, blood everywhere. She advanced slowly inside, eyes wide at the carnage that was laid out before her.

“What’s going on? What happened?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Dean didn’t respond, just advanced to the door on the opposite side of the diner, and pushed it open, hand splayed against the glass.

“Sam! Sammy!” he shouted, and Chloe’s heart beat faster as she realized that Sam wasn’t just out of sight, but truly missing. She watched as he let the door close; then his facial expression hardened as he looked at his hand on the window, and she saw a yellow powder was coating the glass.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Sulpher,” he replied, his face becoming fearful, and suddenly he bolted through the door and ran outside, bellowing for Sam. She followed, calling for Sam herself, fear skyrocketing. She remembered the information she had catalogued on her laptop about demons, and it included that they left traces of sulpher behind. They both shouted for Sam until it became clear he was gone, then stood and stared at each other in the pouring rain, shocked and scared.

\---------------------------------------

They returned to Bobby’s, Dean pushing the Impala as fast as it would go. Chloe didn’t even notice the speed of the trees sliding by her window, just gripped the seat with her fingers, worrying about Sam. Dean had called Bobby and told him what happened, but beyond that, hadn’t spoken a word since leaving the diner. Chloe wished there was something she could say, but there were no words that could soothe the loss of a brother, no reassurances that wouldn’t be lies. So they drove in silence, the car filled with tension.

When they arrived, they found Bobby on the phone, pouring over a map of South Dakota and the surrounding states. After hanging up, he gripped Dean’s shoulder for a moment, and though Dean shook him off after those few seconds, Chloe could see that he had appreciated Bobby’s support.

“What have you found?” Dean asked harshly.

“I’ve checked with as many of my contacts as would answer their phones. There have been no demonic occurrences in the area for over a month, which is suspicious, considering there’s been more demonic activity over the past year than there was over the prior ten. It’s like they’re sunk in the shadows, waiting for something.”

“I got a feeling they won’t be waiting much longer. We’ve got to figure out where Sam is.” Dean smacked his open hand on the table, then turned away, striding to the door. His hand was on the doorknob when his cell phone rang, and his face clenched as he pulled it out of his pocket, clearly hoping it would be Sam. Chloe watched as he checked the caller id, looking disappointed, then puzzled.

“Ash, what – “ He stopped talking as if interrupted, then was nodding and agreeing to something. He closed the phone. “Ash has found something, but he won’t tell me over the phone. Get in the car; we’re going to Ellen’s.”

\------------------------------------------

It was well into the morning when they reached the roadhouse. Chloe had heard about it from some of the stories Dean and Sam had told her, and knew it had become a sort of touchstone for the boys, a place they could go to for a moment’s refuge. She was shocked to see the pile of charred rubble, smoke rising into the sky, and heard Dean curse as he got out of the car. She waited beside the Impala, watching as Dean and Bobby walked the premises, searching for familiar faces, and heard Dean exclaim over finding the man who had called him earlier, Ash.

They returned to the car, looking defeated, and Dean leaned against the black metal, face angry. “What are we gonna do, Bobby? We have no clue what Ash was going to tell us, we don’t know where Ellen is, or if she’s even still alive. How are we gonna find Sam?”

Bobby sighed, and Chloe thought she had never seen him look so old, or so tired. He opened his mouth to respond, but cut off when Dean put a hand to his head, hunching over in pain.

“Dean, you alright?” Bobby asked, as Chloe hastened to his side.

Dean shook his head, blinking his eyes. “Fine. I’m fine. I just…I thought I saw something.”

“You mean, like a vision?” Bobby frowned.

Dean frowned back. “No, no way, man. It wasn’t a vision.” As soon as he finished speaking, he clutched at his head again, nearly collapsing in pain. “Aw, shit…Sam…”

The pain seemed to ease, and then he was staring at them panting. “It’s Sam…I saw his face. He was standing in front of a big bell; some kind of engraving on it.”

Bobby stared at him. “Was it a tree, an oak tree?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, exactly.”

“I know where Sam is.”

\-------------------------------------------

Bobby had given Dean directions to Cold Oak, South Dakota in the car, explaining it was an old ghost town left uninhabited for over one hundred years. They were bumping along an old road, so overgrown it was really more a trail than a road, now. Chloe heard Dean swear, and looked up to see a large fallen tree blocking the path.

“Looks like the rest of the way is on foot,” Bobby said, and they climbed out of the Impala. Dean opened the trunk and began pulling out weapons, handing Chloe the Beretta. She stuck it into her jeans without a word; she would do whatever it took to protect Sam.

They walked quickly and silently down the overgrown road, hurrying as much as they could while being careful not to trip across the logs and roots spread across the ground. Finally, they could see buildings in the distance, moonlight illuminating the wood structures, and Dean began shouting for Sam.

As they entered the old town, they saw him, standing hunched over as though hurt, throwing something against the ground, and Dean shouted for him again. Sam turned, face lighting at hearing his brother’s voice and began staggering towards them holding his shoulder. Dean, seeing his brother injured, began jogging forward to meet and help him, when suddenly he shouted in worry. “Sam!”

Chloe watched in horror as a man in army fatigues rose up from the ground behind Sam, then plunged a knife into Sam’s back, his arm making a twisting motion as if he were determined to do as much damage as possible. It was a killing stroke.

Time slowed in front of Chloe’s eyes; Dean’s bellowing in anger for Sam seeming to come from a distance, while Sam slowly, slowly dropped to his knees, his face registering surprise, pain, then a terrible blankness. Dean was sprinting ahead of her, falling in front of Sam, grasping his shoulders. Bobby raced past them both, following the disappearing figure of Sam’s assailant.

Suddenly, she was upon them, and the world sped up again. Dean knelt in the dirt, holding Sam’s body, calling his name, telling him what a pain in the ass little brother he was, telling him he would be okay. Words that Chloe knew Sam was beyond hearing. She knelt down behind Sam, seeing the blood, then stared at Dean over his shoulder, her eyes filling with tears. This was not right – it couldn’t be right. Sam was not meant to die here. And Dean was not meant to be alone, with no brother to keep him company, to take care of. Anger rose up in her; anger at the bastard who had done this, anger at the demon who had assuredly put Sam on this course, anger that the brothers who were everything to each other were unable to escape tragedy at every turn of their lives. This couldn’t happen; it wouldn’t happen. She was as sure as she had been when Clark had been trapped in a dying Lex’s mind, and there was no time to waste.

She focused on Dean as he dropped his head onto Sam’s shoulder, his arms crossing Sam’s back. She put her hands on his wrists, tightly. “Dean, listen to me; LOOK AT ME!” She screamed in his face, and he looked at her, tears trailing from his eyes. “There’s no time to explain. If something happens, don’t let me end up in a morgue or buried. Just take my body somewhere safe, then call Clark Kent and tell him what happened.” Dean was staring at her, and she couldn’t be sure he was hearing her through his grief, but she couldn’t wait any longer. “CLARK KENT. Remember the name. He’s in my cell phone – find his name and call him. He’ll know what to do.”

Chloe moved her hands from Dean’s wrists to Sam’s back, then closed her eyes and exhaled. She thought of Sam, thought of him smiling while teasing Dean, of his slight frown while concentrating on his laptop, of his strong arms that caught her when she tumbled over a fence, of his earnestness to help others, of his pain when he was in the grip of a vision. And suddenly, she could feel it, a deep thrumming pain, that spread over her lower back, and then around her, like a blanket, wrapping around and around, faster and faster, covering her in layer after layer. The blanket was weighting her down, heavier and heavier, in a suffocating warmth that made it so hard to think, so hard to care, so hard to breathe. And so, she stopped.

\-------------------------------

Dean held his brother in his arms, Sam’s head resting loosely on his shoulder. His brain was functioning in slow motion, refusing to accept the events of the past few minutes. He felt pressure on his wrists, and looked into Chloe’s face, barely understanding the words she was shouting at him. He saw her close her eyes, then her face was bathed in a soft white light that seemed to be emanating from somewhere below Sam’s shoulder. He was suddenly jerked out of his haze when Sam’s head turned into his neck, seemingly of its own accord. He pulled Sam back away from his body, searching his face, and was rewarded when his brother groaned, coughing.

“Sam! Sammy, talk to me!”

“Dean?” Sam’s voice was hoarse, but Dean thought he had never sounded better.

“I’m here, Sam. I’ve got you. Let me take a look at your back.” He pulled Sam back towards him, then laid him gently on his side on the ground, pulling his shirt up. He stared in disbelief at the unbroken skin, then rolled Sam back over.

“Dean, I was…I think I was stabbed.”

“You were man, I saw that bastard stab you in the back. But it’s healed; there’s no wound.” He smiled at Sam in wonder, then lifted his eyes to share his joy with Chloe. His relief turned to horror when he realized she was no longer kneeling nearby, and instead was crumpled, unmoving, on the ground. “Chloe!”

He was beside her in seconds, Sam only slightly slower. They stared in disbelief at her gray pallor, Dean’s fingers trying and failing to find a pulse at her throat. He began CPR, first chest compressions, then breathing, then chest compressions again, rotating through the cycle, over and over, until he felt Sam’s hand on his arm.

“Dean.”

He shook him off, and continued blindly.

“Dean. Stop.” The hand had returned to his arm, and the voice was still gentle, but firmer. Dean paused in his efforts and looked into his brother’s grief-stricken eyes. “It’s over, Dean, she’s gone.”

Dean’s knees gave out from under him, and he sat down hard in the dirt. He gently pulled Chloe’s body into his lap, cradling her, stroking her hair. She was so beautiful; he had thought so from the moment they had collided into each other weeks ago. He felt more than saw Sam sit next to him, shoulder to shoulder. He almost smiled. Chloe had cared about Sam, had been protective of him; she would have been so happy to see Sam alive.

“Dean, what happened?”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know,” he replied softly. “That bastard stabbed you in the back, and I thought you were dead; no, you were dead.” He looked at Sam in confusion. “I was holding you, checking your injuries, and then you were gone. Chloe was there, she was crying, then she was telling me something, she was…shouting at me.” His mind, almost numb from the two grievous shocks he had suffered, was finally starting to function, reconstructing his memories.

“Why was she shouting?”

“She told me to listen to her, she told me…” Suddenly, his head snapped back as her words came flooding back. “She told me not to bury her!”

“What?”

“She said if something happened, not to bury her. She said to call somebody, Clark Kent, I think, she said he would know what to do. Then she closed her eyes, and there was a light…and then you woke up.”

Sam looked at him in amazement. “Dean…you’re saying she healed me. You’re saying she…she died and brought me back to life.” He shook his head, choked up. “Oh my God, she purposely died so I wouldn’t.”

Chloe had protected Sam, with her life. Dean stared at her, resting so peacefully in his arms. She had saved his brother, giving her life for his; she had done what Dean was supposed to do, protect his brother at all costs. He stroked her cheek with his fingers, feeling the softness of her skin. He looked up at Bobby, who was running back towards them, his eyes wide at seeing Sam sitting up, alive.

“We don’t know how, but Chloe healed Sam.” Beside him, Sam bowed his head, tears streaming.


	22. Chapter 22

Bobby drove the Impala down the darkened highway towards his home.

He was alone in the front seat, and he continually cast glances through the rearview mirror at both boys, who sat together, holding Chloe’s body across their laps. Neither had said a word since they had climbed in, carefully passing her through the door. He was worried about how and when they would recover from the loss; he had never seen the boys take to someone so quickly and completely; usually they stayed wrapped up in themselves, and their job. But she had managed to fit herself into their world, almost without trying it had seemed, and had been fast becoming a permanent fixture, he knew. She would have fit well, too; smart, sassy, cute – Bobby cut off that line of thinking and cleared his throat gruffly. The boys needed him now; there was no time for getting all teary-eyed like an old woman.

\-------------------------------------------

They arrived back at Bobby’s house as the early morning light began to filter through the trees. They carried Chloe’s body into the living room and laid her gently on the couch. Sam threw himself into the armchair and closed his eyes while Dean sat on the floor, his back resting against the couch. He could feel his head lying against the side of her arm, and he too closed his eyes, weary with grief. He thought back through the events of the previous hours, Sam’s face as he died, Chloe’s face as she shouted at him, and Chloe’s body lying huddled on the ground. He had done as she asked, and called her friend just as Bobby turned onto the road that led to his salvage yard.

“Hello?”

“Is this Clark Kent?”

“Yes, who is this?”

“My name is Dean Winchester. Chloe…Chloe Sullivan asked me to call you.”

“Chloe? Is she alright?”

“No…no she’s not. She…she was helping someone, and she…died.”

“What? What are you talking about? Where is she?”

“We’re taking her to a friend’s place; I can give you directions.”

Clark had promised to arrive quickly, but it was an eight hour trip from Kansas, so Dean didn’t expect to see him before noon. He stretched his legs out and thought back to the first time he had met Chloe, when he had run into her on a sidewalk in Nebraska, and slowly began working his way forward, savoring each memory of her face and voice.

\-----------------------------------------

Dean awoke to the sound of a ringing telephone, then the hushed tones of Bobby’s voice. He looked over at Sam, who was rubbing his eyes, and then he remembered why there was a hole in the pit of his stomach. He sighed and turned his head, and she was lying just as she had been, motionless, lifeless.

Bobby had stopped talking in the background, and now stepped around the couch and into his line of sight, frowning when he saw both boys awake. “Sorry about that. Should’ve thought to unplug the phone.”

“It’s okay,” Dean replied, checking his watch. Eight o’clock in the morning. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, that was just Joe at the diner; he keeps me up to date on the latest town gossip. Seems some corporate bigwig flew into the local airport, jet so big there’s almost no room left for the local planes to take off.”

Dean didn’t respond; he really didn’t want to be bothered with what was happening anywhere else. He turned his head, hearing what sounded like a car driving close to the house. Sam looked up too, and Bobby strode to the door and looked outside. “What the hell?”

The brothers immediately joined him at the door and were equally mystified by the sight. A long black limo came to a stop just beyond the front porch, and a door opened on either side. Two men exited the vehicle, one blonde in an impeccably tailored suit, and the other dark-haired in jeans and a blue shirt with a red jacket. The blonde put his hand on the other man’s shoulder and spoke a few words. The dark-haired man looked unhappy, but nodded, and they both made their way up to the porch, where Bobby and the Winchester brothers stood waiting.

The blonde nodded politely and smiled. “Hello, my name is Oliver Queen, and this is Clark Kent. We’re looking for Dean Winchester?”

Clark Kent. Dean stared at the man he had spoken to on the phone. “I’m Dean Winchester. This is my brother, Sam, and he’s Bobby Singer.”

Both newcomers focused on Dean, and the man named Oliver spoke again. “Thank you for calling Clark, Mr. Winchester. We’ve come to retrieve Ms. Sullivan.”

Dean was taken aback. “Retrieve her? What is she, lost luggage? What the hell is the matter with you?”

Sam laid a hand on his shoulder, gripping it tightly. “Dean, calm down, I don’t think he meant anything by it.”

But Dean was not in the mood to be placated, and he shook Sam’s hand off. “No, Sam, I’m not handing Chloe over to some stranger when we don’t even know what’s going on.”

Clark stepped forward, anger on his face. “She’s not your responsibility, she’s ours.” He would have said more, but when Oliver put a hand on his arm and gave him a look, Clark subsided, but he continued to glare at Dean.

Dean was unaffected. “The hell she isn’t mine! She saved mine and my brother’s lives, and we’ve been taking care of her for days – “

“Great job with that, considering you let her die,” Clark cut in angrily.

Dean’s face set in hard lines, and his hand twitched towards the waistband of his jeans, but Bobby stepped between the two men. “Alright, that’s enough, both of you! None of us are happy about what’s happened, but arguing about it is a waste of time. We’re going to sit down and discuss this like reasonable men, or so help me, I will put a bullet in every single one of you. Sam, show our visitors to the kitchen.”

Sam nodded, and led Oliver and Clark inside. Bobby grabbed Dean by the arm before he could follow. “Son, I know how you’re feeling, but remember, she told you to call him. That means she trusted him. You might consider following her lead.”

Dean glowered, but nodded, and followed him into the kitchen, taking the remaining chair. Bobby stood leaning against the counter, watching the four of them.

Oliver cleared his throat. “Look, it sounds like Chloe has been with you for a while, and we would like to know what went down, but I understand you don’t know us and don’t trust us, so I’ll start. I’m Chloe’s employer, and friend. She consults for my company, Queen Industries. She is one of my most trusted associates. Clark is her best friend; they went to school together in Smallville.” He looked directly at Dean. “You told Clark over the phone that Chloe instructed you to call him; that’s why. She trusts him.”

Dean gritted his teeth, but nodded grudgingly. He didn’t trust himself to speak, and he wouldn’t put it past Bobby to really shoot him if he got upset again. He looked at Sam, who nodded.

“We met Chloe a few weeks ago; she was working on an article about paranormal activity, and we happen to do a little investigating in that field ourselves.” Sam began smoothly. “We traveled together for a while, but last night I was…jumped by a guy with a knife, and he stabbed me in the back. We don’t understand how, but Chloe healed me, there’s not even a scratch left.” Sam’s voice became quiet. “But when she did, she died.”

All four of the boys were silent for a moment, staring at the table. Then Sam spoke again. “I read her blog, and her articles about meteor freaks, and how they were people affected by the meteor showers in Smallville.” Clark’s head lifted and he stared while Sam continued. “Is that what this is?”

“She’s not a freak!” Clark replied, hotly.

Sam spread his hands, palms out, as if to show no malicious intent. “Look man, we haven’t known Chloe very long, but she means a lot, to both of us. I didn’t mean she was a freak, I’m just trying to understand what she did.”

Clark sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. “She has a healing ability; she got it from meteor rock exposure. She’s only used it a few times that I know of, but if the injury is too serious, if it’s something the person would have died from, then she dies when she heals it.” He was suddenly aware that both of the men across the table from him had gone stiff and still, and the man leaning against the counter had taken a step forward.

“Are you saying she’s died before?” Dean’s voice was loud and harsh.

Clark looked at him. “Yes, twice before.” And was startled when Dean shoved his chair back with a clatter and stood, towering over the table, eyes intense.

“Is she going to come back to life?”

“Yes, I think she will.” He stopped speaking when Dean suddenly strode from the room.

\-----------------------------------------

Sam watched as Dean left the room, knowing he would be returning to Chloe’s side. He could barely believe what Clark was saying, and the sense of relief that Chloe would be returning to them, that she hadn’t given up her whole life for his was almost overwhelming. He fought to keep himself under control. “How…how long until she wakes up?”

Clark shook his head. “It was different both times, but the last time was the longest, eighteen hours. How long…?” He trailed off, unable to complete the sentence.

“Ten hours.” Sam replied softly.

They sat in silence for another moment, then Oliver leaned forward. “Your brother mentioned that she saved both your lives. Did she heal him, too?”

Sam shook his head. “No, my brother was almost run over by a car. She saw it about to happen and drove her Jeep into the path of the car, to stop it.”

This time, it was Clark and Oliver who reacted in tandem, leaning back in their chairs, shock on their faces. “She was in a car accident? How badly was she hurt?” Clark asked.

“Nothing broken, but she was banged up pretty good; she needed stitches for a cut on her head and had some serious bruising for a while. It was about a week and a half ago, she recovered.”

Clark and Oliver looked at each other grimly, but with a hint of resignation. “I told her to call me if she needed anything,” Clark said.

“I told her I was concerned with the safety of the entire team, and to keep me in the loop,” Oliver replied, rolling his eyes.

Sam suddenly felt like a tattle-tale, and hoped that Chloe wouldn’t regret healing him when she found out he had told her friends about the car crash.

Their attention was diverted when there was a knock on the door. Bobby left the kitchen to answer it. “Sam, why don’t you take these two in to see Chloe.”

Sam led Clark and Oliver into the living room, where Dean was sitting at Chloe’s side. He didn’t look up at them, but his shoulders were stiff, and Sam wasn’t sure if he ever would have moved if Bobby hadn’t called for them.

“Sam! Dean! Come here.”

They walked out of the living room, leaving Clark and Oliver with Chloe, and stopped in astonishment to see Ellen standing next to Bobby.

“Ellen!” Sam hugged her, tightly, then Dean took his place and did the same.

\------------------------------------------

About twenty minutes later, Dean and Sam returned to the living room where Clark and Oliver were waiting.

“Sorry to leave you so long.” Sam apologized.

“It’s okay, sounds like something serious is going down. Is there anything we can help with?” Oliver asked, politely, but his eyes were sharp.

Sam wondered how much he might have heard from the kitchen; they had kept their voices down while discussing Jake and the iron devil’s trap, but there was no way to know for sure. “Thank you, but no, we’ve just had something come up that needs our attention tonight.” He stopped and looked at Dean, unwilling to okay them leaving with Chloe without his approval.

“Where are you going to take her?” Dean asked gruffly.

“Back to her home, in Metropolis. We’ll stay with her until she wakes up. I’m sure she’ll want to talk to you, after.”

Dean nodded. “Alright.” He watched as they both stood, his face hardening as he saw Clark gently lift Chloe from the couch, then with a nod at Sam and Dean, carried her out of the house.

Oliver followed behind him, turning at the door. “Here.” He handed Sam a business card. “This is my personal line. I can’t thank you enough for taking care of Chloe. If you need anything at all, call me.”

The brothers stood on the porch, watching as the limo drove out of the salvage yard and out of sight.

“We shouldn’t have let her go,” Dean muttered.

“We can’t watch over her and fight Jake,” Sam reminded him. “They’ll keep her safe.”


	23. Chapter 23

Chloe was suddenly aware; aware of sofa cushions beneath her, aware of cool air conditioning against her cheeks, aware of being alive, and aware of being watched. She opened her eyes and recognized the walls and furniture of the Watchtower. She also recognized the two men sitting across from her, with identical looks of relief and concern on their faces.

She spoke lightly, trying to diffuse the seriousness of the moment. “Back in Kansas, huh? I must have gone to see the Wizard.”

“That’s not funny, Chloe,” Clark replied, sounding upset.

She sighed, and would have responded, but her memories suddenly came flooding back, and she sat straight up from the sofa. “Sam! Where’s Sam, is he okay?”

“Sam’s okay, Chloe, you healed him, he’s fine, I promise,” Clark hastened to reassure her.

“You saw him, you’re sure he’s okay?”

“We both saw him, Watchtower. He said he was stabbed in the back, but he didn’t have a scratch left.” Oliver replied.

Chloe nodded. “Okay. What time is it?”

“Almost ten o’clock at night. Twenty-four hours, Chloe.” Clark’s tone was remonstrating, but she didn’t want to hear it.

“The knife severed his spinal cord, Clark. He was dead, or just at when I healed him. That’s the worst wound I’ve ever healed, so maybe twenty-four hours is the most it will ever take.”

“I don’t want you to die at all!”

“I know, Clark,” she replied softly. “It’s not my favorite thing either, but sometimes it’s necessary.” She looked at him pointedly, and he remembered that one of the times it had happened, she had saved him.

“I get that, Chloe. I just…don’t have to like it.”

She smiled. “That’s fair. Do I get a hug now?”

He grinned and sat down on the couch beside her, wrapping her in his arms. “I’m glad you’re okay, Chloe. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Don’t worry, Clark, I don’t plan on you having to find out anytime soon.”

They separated and he stood, smiling down at her. “I guess I should get back to the farm now that I know you’re alright.” She nodded and he made his way to the elevator. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” she replied, and he left.

Chloe turned, sitting up more against the back of the couch, putting her feet on the floor, then looked over at Oliver who hadn’t moved from his chair. “I’m sorry to drag you out here Oliver, I know you’re busy.”

“That’s okay; taking care of my team is my most important job. And speaking of that, I thought you and I had an understanding.”

Chloe frowned. “What do you mean?”

He leaned forward in his chair, eyes serious. “You’ve sent me a couple emails over the past few weeks, saying you were interviewing for a story, and that you were fine. What you failed to mention was that you were in a car accident and needed stitches.” His eyes flicked to the stitches visible at her forehead, then met hers again. “There was no indication of an altercation that would have put a bruise around your wrist.” Now he looked down at her arm, and she felt the urge to hide it. “There was certainly no mention of the fact that you were traveling with two men of questionable character, one of which has been labeled by the FBI as a serial killer.”

Chloe paled, worried that Oliver might have turned Dean in. “He’s not a murderer, Oliver, he didn’t kill those people. I can explain.”

“I didn’t think that he did, and no, I didn’t turn him in. You’re smart, Chloe, one of the most intelligent women I’ve met; I know you would have checked him out and you wouldn’t have been with him if he was a murderer. And yet, for all your intelligence, you refuse to take back-up with you into potentially dangerous situations and you don’t let the rest of the team know when you’re badly injured. You told me you’d keep me in the loop, but you haven’t.”

Chloe sat back, feeling guilty. “I didn’t want to worry anyone, I was fine after the car accident; just a little banged up. You’re right, though, I probably should have at least told Clark so he’d know to check on me.”

Oliver smiled. “There’s no ‘probably’ about it. You’re not an outsider, Chloe, the whole team cares about you; you’re our eyes, our Watchtower. You’re a vital part of the team. If Bart were hurt on a mission, you’d want to know, right?”

She sighed. “Yes, I would. I’m sorry, Oliver, I’ll share more with the team from now on.”

“Good. Because I have a feeling you’re going to be on the road a lot more than you used to be, and I don’t want to always be worried about you.”

She looked at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

He grinned at her. “Dean Winchester seemed pretty taken with you. I’m pretty sure he almost drew a gun on Clark.”

Chloe covered her face with her hands. “Oh, God. Tell me what happened.”

\----------------------------------------

Oliver left an hour later to return to Star City. She shared with him all of her experiences while with the Winchester brothers and the supernatural occurrences she had learned about, and he told her about his and Clark’s encounter with Dean, Sam, and Bobby, and how it appeared that something important was happening tonight. Clark had needed prompting from Oliver to stop paying attention to her and listen in, but once he did, had heard them talking with a woman named Ellen about an iron devil’s trap, churches, and Samuel Colt. Chloe remembered that Ellen was the name of the woman missing from the roadhouse, and hoped that she was okay.

She tried calling both brothers’ cell phones to check on them, but both rolled to voicemail. She couldn’t bring herself to leave a message, not sure what to say to someone who watched you die. Hey, sorry for freaking you out, but, I am a freak so…

She put her cell phone away and thought about lying down, but knew she’d never sleep. She positioned a chair and ottoman near the window with the best views of the city, then settled down with a cup of coffee and a blanket, staring out over the landscape. She had always considered herself a city girl, and she loved looking at the sparkling lights bright against the night sky, so she was surprised to suddenly find herself wishing she was back at Bobby’s, looking out to the horizon where green trees and golden hills met blue sky. She still loved her Watchtower, but something unexpected had crept up on her, and she closed her eyes, imagining she was on Bobby’s front porch, watching Dean work on her Jeep, with Sam just inside researching on his laptop, and Bobby wandering between the three of them, enjoying the company despite himself.

She stayed there until the sun began to rise, then she got up to take a shower and pack a bag. She knew what she needed to do.

\----------------------------------------

She could see his tow truck parked around the side of the house. She knocked on the door. “Bobby? Bobby, it’s Chloe.” She knocked again, but there was no response.

“Hang on, Chloe,” Clark said, and disappeared from her sight, returning a moment later to confirm what she suspected. “There isn’t anyone on the property.”

Chloe nodded. “That’s alright; I knew he might not be here. I’m going to wait, you can go ahead and head back to Smallville.”

“Chloe, I’m not going to leave you here alone.”

“Don’t worry, Clark, if they don’t show up before dark, I’ll call a cab to come get me and go to a motel. I’ll be fine.”

Clark looked at her, eyes still worried, clearly wanting to refuse. She sighed. “Please Clark, I like it here, and I want to be alone for a while.”

He nodded, resigned. “Alright, but don’t call for a cab. Call me and I’ll take you to a motel.”

She smiled. “I promise. Thank you, Clark.” She hugged him, and he hugged her back, smiling, then supersped out of sight.

Chloe set her bag down next to the railing, then sat down in her favorite rocker, enjoying the breeze that blew cool against her face. She closed her eyes, willing the butterflies in her stomach to go away. There was no guarantee that Bobby would show up today, and even if he did, Dean and Sam might not be with him. There was no reason to be anxious. She sighed, settling more comfortably in the chair, and wondered what it was about this place that made her feel like she had found home. She had felt safe here, surrounded by blue sky and breezes, Bobby’s books and the brothers’ weapons, and the three men themselves. She thought about all of her experiences with the Winchester brothers; Dean shooting the asylum spirit with rock salt, watching the boys dig up a grave, Sam telling her all about water spirits, both boys freeing her from the nix, Sam smiling after shooting bottle targets, and Dean’s green eyes staring into hers, sometimes sparkling, sometimes smoldering, always beautiful.

She awoke suddenly, realizing with a start that the sun was much lower in the sky, signaling late afternoon. She was reminded forcefully of the last time she had slept in the rocker, and had awakened to the sound of Bobby’s tow truck bringing her poor, abused Jeep home to her. This time was different, the sound in her ears wasn’t the heavy clanging of the tow truck, but a sleek, throaty growl that she could have identified blindfolded. She watched as the Impala appeared, driving through the open gate and up to the house, parking in front of the porch. She got up from the chair and walked down to the lowest step, watching as the front passenger door burst open even before the car had stopped, and Sam jumped out, ran to where she stood, and grabbed her up into a hug, lifting her off the step.

“Chloe! Thank God, we were so worried about you.”

Her eyes filled with tears, remembering the last time she had seen him, and she tightened her arms around his shoulders. “Sam, I’m so glad you’re okay!” She pulled back a little, looking into his face. “You are okay right? All healed and better?”

Sam set her back on the step, smiling. “You saved me; how could I not be okay? But you scared us to death; Chloe, you should have told us ahead of time what you could do. We both thought you were gone forever.” He looked back and she followed his gaze, seeing that Dean had gotten out of the Impala, and was standing beside it, staring at her impassively. She knew that Bobby and a woman had exited the back of the car, but for some reason she couldn’t break his gaze, couldn’t focus anywhere but his face, and the butterflies reappeared in her stomach. She felt Sam step away and watched as Dean strode forward, his face still unreadable, until he stood before her. Her head had tilted up and she stared at his eyes, thinking they were the darkest green she had ever seen them be, and then one of his hands was curling around her neck, tangling in her hair, and his face lowered until she could feel his lips on hers. Her eyes closed as he pulled her closer against him, deepening the kiss, and as she slid her hands around his back, she knew that she had been right. She had found home.

**Author's Note:**

> Chloe's Hunt was the first part of the Hunt/Heart 'verse. The next part is titled Chloe's Heart.


End file.
